


Myogenic Contractions of the Cardiac Cycle

by ElvenSorceress



Series: Fairy Tales [1]
Category: Incredible Hulk (2008), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bannerella, Demisexuality, Depression, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, M/M, Male Slash, Miscarriage, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Pansexual Character, Past Bruce/Betty, Physics Written by a Chemisty Nerd, Pre-Avengers Movie, Promiscuity, Revisionist Fairy Tale, Safer Sex, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Sexual Content, Surgery, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSorceress/pseuds/ElvenSorceress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Yinsen wasn't the only one Tony met a technical conference in Switzerland before he became Iron Man? AKA the one where Bruce is Cinderella and attends a conference despite being on the run from the military, and charming Tony becomes enamored with a mysterious physicist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Charming as a Prince Will Ever Be

**Author's Note:**

> 1) While Nick Fury's Big Week is cool and all, I strongly disagree with the timeline presented in the movies re: the Norton Hulk movie. To me, it doesn't make sense for that to have occurred five years after the gamma accident. Norton's character (IMHO) doesn't act like he's been dealing with Hulk-ness for five years. It seems closer to one maybe two years at most. There are a lot of other reasons I disagree with timeline but long story short, this is my timeline: Bruce's gamma accident = early 2003, Norton Hulk movie = late 2004, tech conference (meaning when this fic occurs) = mid 2006, Iron Man 1 = 2008
> 
> TL;DR - This is in keeping with movie canon but treats it like it's after Norton!Hulk movie but before Iron Man 1. 
> 
> 2) In Norton's Incredible Hulk movie, Bruce's ex, Betty, tries kissing/seducing him, but he declines and says he can't get too excited. Her response is "Not even a little excited?"
> 
> 3) Thanks for reading! <3

_myogenic contraction - a muscle contraction initiated by the muscle cell itself rather than outside stimulus. characteristic of the heart, which beats in and of itself without being told._

~~~~~~~~

Bern, Switzerland, March 2006

 

 Bruce knows he shouldn't attend. This is just the sort of thing Ross and the military are waiting for. It's a busy city. There are crowds and cramped spaces everywhere, and while Bruce has never been claustrophobic, that is rapidly changing. Enclosed means breaking out means destruction and damage. Ruined buildings. Broken people. 

 The whole endeavor is dangerous, indulgent, irresponsible, and he's so very foolish and heartless for even setting foot near Bern let alone this conference. But then Tony Stark staggers to the podium, opens his mouth, and somehow manages to talk incredibly intelligently about integrated circuits and bioelectronics while obviously far beyond a blood alcohol content of 0.08% by volume.

 All Bruce can do is stare and listen and absorb every millisecond of the whole lecture. Until everything down to the smell of cheap stale coffee and lemon vinegar cleaner permeating the makeshift lecture hall is imprinted in his memory vividly forever. Because the man speaking about electrical amalgamations and chemical properties and how to avoid corrosion of semiconductor materials in biogenic devices with revolutionary scientific theories is the most brilliant, incredible person Bruce has ever met.

 Or rather been in the same room with since they haven't technically, officially met.

 His heart rate monitor vibrates against his wrist. Elevated level. Not too fast. Nowhere near potentially dangerous. He breathes slow and deep, but the rate of pulses stays quite a bit above a normal resting bpm. It buzzes every nine seconds or so, making him at 90bpm, to remind him.

 Tony talks quickly, animatedly of huge and complicated processes used to develop and maintain technology to run at maximum performance without breaking down. It's obvious he knows at least 83.34% of the people in the room haven't a clue about what he's describing and that he is actually reveling in the fact that very few colleagues are able to follow his concentration of genius. But Bruce can't mind because he is following every word, every train of thought.

 What he wouldn't give to meet that man. To sit and discuss circuits with him or engineering or some branch of physics or any kind of science. Or any kind of anything.

 He knew of course that Tony Stark was a genius, but he has empirical proof now. This is someone who is just as smart and educated as he is. This is someone who values that kind of intelligence. Tony wouldn't consider him a freak. Not for having an off the charts IQ anyway.

 Tony bows dramatically with expert flourish when he finishes speaking, then swaggers off stage like he's more accustomed to the deck of a ship on the rolling sea. The sigh that escapes Bruce is heavy and too full of longing. Perhaps attending the lecture, even without an incident, was a horrible idea all along.

 Being in the company of other scientists, other intellectuals. Being able to learn other perspectives and hear ideas that he never would've thought up. Being able to think of and apply his mind to something completely unrelated to his... problem and situation. He misses this like oxygen.

 This is all he has now though. This was far more than he should have received. He has to believe it was worth it.

 Bruce leaves the hotel's fabricated lecture hall and ducks through the dispersing crowd toward the exit. But the hotel has a bar in the lobby and Tony Stark is there. And he sees Bruce.

 "You." Tony points across the room, fresh drink sloshing in hand.

 Bruce freezes. His watch buzzes. Every six seconds. Stark Industries makes weapons. They sell them to the military. Tony Stark has plenty of military contacts. Tony Stark could turn him in. He could have already called Ross. Tony Stark could know who he is. Oh, god. What if Tony knew who he was? It would be terrible and incredible all at the same time. His watch is still buzzing. Tempo increasing.

 Tony motions him over. Bruce steps closer only because it is also closer to the doors and the exit and escape. The scent of a bold, spicy clean cologne lingers on Tony's skin; the alcohol, scotch probably, is damp vapor on Tony's breath. If Bruce focuses very carefully, the heat generated by Tony's solid, warm human body drifts over his own skin. Tony stares into him, scanning him down and up with dark, widely dilated pupils until Bruce feels more naked than he does even when he wakes without clothes in a strange place surrounded by unrecognizable people.

 "You have been _staring_ at me for. Two. Hours." Tony's voice is smooth and dark. A slight edge. A roughness. Something desperate and raw but warm and all encompassing.

 Bruce's legs actually feel weak. "I'm... sorry?"

 Tony grins. "Don't be. I could feel you watching me. You're incredibly distracting."

 Okay, without threat of imminent catastrophe, Bruce will no longer be capable of moving.

 Tony lifts his glass, gestures with it. "What do you drink?"

 "Drink? I, uh, don't."

 Tony's eyebrows furrow like even his incredibly exceptional mind can't comprehend the idea of someone not partaking in alcohol.

 "Alcoholic father. Extremely negative results," Bruce blurts out. Rambles. Why is he even talking? About that no less. He looks away. Glances around the room. No one seems to be paying any attention to them. No one's following him. No one's watching them. He could breathe slowly. Eliminate the vibrations from the watch.

 "Ah. Well, it can be anything. I don't need to get you liquored up. Pick something. Soda, juice, mocktail, water even. Whatever."

 "What?" Really? He had a supposedly immeasurable IQ and that was his response?

 Tony leans in closer. Warmth and rich cologne swirl all around Bruce, bombarding his olfactory and somatic receptors with nothing but Tony Stark. "Have a drink with me. I have to know who you are. I have to know you."

 A shiver goes through Bruce's whole body. He should go. He should leave now while no one knows he's here. He should run as far away from this as possible. He doesn't need the monitor to tell him his heart rate is above average. It's too fast. Not dangerous, not green, not like that. But. Too fast. Chemical reactions triggering emotional responses. Wouldn't be an exaggeration to say emotional responses are the bane of his existence. But then how many people have this opportunity? How often does Bruce stumble on something like this? "Um. Mint tea?"

 Tony's nose crinkles but that grin is bright and charming -- charm is enthrall is hypnotize is captivate is captive, caught, trapped -- but Bruce doesn't feel trapped. "Whatever works for you." Tony orders tea for Bruce and places a hand between Bruce's shoulder blades. He points toward a booth in the corner and Bruce's legs cooperate with Tony not with his better judgment.

 He takes a seat at the banquette across from Tony. At least it's tall, secluded, and dimly lit. Easier to stay out sight and unnoticed that way. The votive candle on the table flickers and casts a red glow through ruby colored glass. It gives Tony an inviting, flushed quality; accentuates the line of his jaw, the contours of his lips, the darkness of his eyes.

 Maybe secluded and in soft focus were not advantages of fortune.

 Bruce doesn't need to find Tony attractive even though obviously, from a completely aesthetic standpoint, Tony's features are pleasantly symmetrical and his body appears lean and nicely muscled. His hair falls over his forehead in a tousled, careless, but still put together way. The light shadow of stubble on his otherwise clean-shaven face makes Bruce want to rub his fingers over it and find out how rough or smooth it actually is. And when Tony does that intense stare-into-your-soul with his eyes, it's enough to turn anyone's insides into jelly. But recognizing Tony's attractiveness from a visual, artistic angle is very different from viewing him as appealing and desirable from a personal one. Oh, god, he needs a new train of thought.

 He takes off his glasses and tucks them in his breast pocket. No more seeing up close.

 Tony rubs a thumb along a vertical edge in his glass. "What did you think of my lecture?"

 Bruce lets out a breath. That was a much safer topic to focus on. "I enjoyed it. Electronics and computer tech weren't my field of study, but I've always found them fascinating. Although I would suggest finding a lighter, more flexible material for biogenic implants not being used with internal fixators. It would be less intrusive and less painful if the casings for the microchips weren't metal. At least when you're dealing with the larger devices. I'm not sure what would work best though. It's something you'd have to experiment with because it would also need to be noncorrosive, and why are you looking at me like that?"

 Tony takes a sip from his glass but the smirk never falters. "You understood it."

 Well. Bruce is, in fact, _not_ a mindless groupie. However, minutely sidetracked he might be by infuriating biological inclinations. "Of course I did."

 "No, I mean you understood in that you followed the process I went about in order to discuss the subject at a certain level while reinterpreting to actually offer constructive feedback. Which means you. Are pretty much a genius."

 Bruce bites back a grin. He knew Tony presented information that way on purpose. "Maybe I'm just very interested in the subject. Or I have a similar working thought process."

 Tony scans him, head tilted sideways. The gaze leaves tingling behind on Bruce's skin, almost as if he's been touched. "Nah. I know better. I can tell. You're brilliant."

 Bruce glances at the table and smiles. A waitress brings over a cup and a hot teapot with mint scented steam rising out of it. She leaves without asking for payment, so Bruce digs in his pants pocket for enough change to cover the tea. He should have enough for this at least. He offers Tony a handful of coins.

 Tony's forehead scrunches and he waves Bruce's hand away. "Sweetheart, I'm a billionaire, and you look like a starving artist."

 Not really sure what to say to that one. He tucks the money back in his pocket. "Thanks."

 "Don't get me wrong. I love fucking creative types. They're insanely adventurous. And kinky. It's the best. And I do get the feeling we're the same brand of crazy."

 Surprisingly or maybe not so surprisingly, Bruce is okay with this. He pours a cupful of tea and lets it diffuse mint steam and cool off.

 "So," Tony says. "Are you?"

 The first thing that comes to mind is "gay" because of the aforementioned artist stereotype and, well, sexual proclivities, but he can't figure why Tony would ask. Even if the answer were in the realm of "no," Bruce is fairly certain Tony would just see that as a challenge to be taken up. And taken was probably the wrong word to use. No more of that line of thinking. "Am I what?"

 "Wasting your time as a starving artist when you could be a biophysicist. Or an engineer."

 Talk about audacity. Bruce laughs. For real. He hasn't laughed in so long, and it feels so, so good. "No."

 Tony's expression grows softer, like he's in awe of something. "Are you a biophysicist? Or engineer?"

 "Actually, I--"

 "No, wait. Lemme guess. You brought up internal fixators and were concerned with implants being lighter and more comfortable, but you say you're fascinated with electronics and followed all of my theory on mechanical engineering and thermodynamics so… physics. You have to be some sort of biophysicist."

 Bruce smiles genuinely, brightly. "I was a physicist, yes. Actually, I have a MD, but I mainly worked on ionizing radiation and electron–positron annihilation."

 "You were? You worked? Why past tense? How do you stop being a physicist? You can't stop being a physicist."

 "I... Haven't been able to work in a long time."

 "Why? Do you need a job? Because I will give you a job. I will give you all the jobs if you're even half as intelligent as you seem."

 God. A job. Working - presumably - for Stark Industries. Working in the field he loves in the States where he'd have a home and wouldn't be running and hiding and avoiding all human contact. He takes a deep breath and finds his chest tight and constricted. Painful. So painful. He tries to keep his smile though. "You have no idea how much I'd like to take you up on that. It isn't possible though."

 "Why not?"

 Bruce sighs and tries to wave away the thought. "Complicated."

 "Excuses. And I knew it. I _so_ knew you were brilliant."

 "Well, I knew you were purposefully being intimidating and talking in circles during your lecture so only someone as knowledgeable as you would have half a clue about what you were saying."

 "To be fair, my liver had also not had the requisite amount of time to process all the ethanol in my system, and I get very ramble-y when I'm drunk. Of course, I bet you anything my assistant would say I am very ramble-y when I'm as close as I get to sober. For instance, I love the way you say, 'oh, and I have a MD' like it's _nothing_ or something everyone has or is capable of obtaining when clearly, it isn't. I also bet that you don't just have that MD but that you have a degree in physics and it's totally a doctorate and you are, in fact, a doctor squared."

 If Bruce could stop grinning like a fool, he would. He doesn't see that happening any time soon though so he picks up his cup and takes a careful sip of the hot, fragrant liquid.

 They end up talking for hours even though Bruce swears it was only a few minutes. He finishes his whole pot of tea and Tony makes it through at least three more glasses of different liquors. He never intended to linger so long, but Tony keeps asking him questions and keeps reciting all the advances in technology and scientific research that he's missed out on while running and hiding in the last few years, and Bruce never gets around to leaving.

 "Normally," Tony says, turning sideways so his back is to the wall and his legs are propped on the bench seat. "I would say, 'if you got it, flaunt it,' because you have it in spades and are in no way flaunting it the way you should. But there's something about the whole humble, unpretentious, unforeseen genius thing you have going." He swirls his glass around like he can make more alcohol appear instead of ice. "It's incredibly seductive."

 Bruce is just glad he isn't holding the teacup because it would have been completely gone had it been in his hands. On the floor. Shattered. Millions of pieces. Does Tony Stark really think him... seductive? He can't possibly. The statement was hypothetical. General. Broad-spectrum unspecific. It couldn't mean that Tony was in any way attracted to him.

 "Does that make you uncomfortable?" Tony leans against the cushioned banquette and takes a long drink from his mostly empty glass.

 "Does what make me uncomfortable?"

 Surprisingly, Tony avoids eye contact and instead watches the candle flame encased in the red glass. His response is nonchalant. "The fact that I find you hot."

 "Oh." Did he really? The watch buzzes. Annoyingly. He's never found it annoying before. But seriously. He doesn't need a physical reminder of how much Tony affects him. "No. I was more surprised. I haven't been hit on in…" He tried to think of the last time, of when, but couldn't. No. It had to be… the last time was… _not even a little excited?_ Bruce suddenly wishes he were into stronger drinks. A numbing effect would be nice right about now. "A long time. It's been a really long time."

 Tony looks up at him, devious sparkle in his eyes, smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "In that case…" He crooks a finger, beckoning Bruce to lean in.

 He should resist. He knows he should. Nothing good could come of this. Actually, nothing that wasn't incredibly frustrating could come from this, but Bruce leans in anyway and Tony's warm breath drifts over his face. Tony's index finger finds the collar of Bruce's shirt. It hooks in the fabric at the top button and rests against Bruce's chest. Six seconds between monitor vibrations.

 "I have been thinking about trailing my tongue over every inch of you for the last three hours."

 Every three seconds. God, that was… He couldn't even think. That was 150 beats per minute. He can't move. He just holds Tony's dark, penetrating gaze. Oh, god, not penetrating. No penetrating. Nothing that had anything to do with that whatsoever.

 Bruce lets his arm rest on the table and the watch noisily vibrates against his empty teacup. Tony looks down at it and Bruce finally can breathe again. Slow breaths. He can control himself. He can handle this.

 Tony lifts Bruce's wrist, traps it between both warm hands. "What's that?"

 Bruce swallows and takes one long, deep breath. It's been so long since anyone has touched him without it being an accident or an attack, and Tony touches him so deliberately and affectionately. "Heart rate monitor. If I experience tachycardia above a certain level, it's extremely dangerous."

Tony's fingers lightly caress the inside of Bruce's wrist. Bruce bites his lower lip hard so he doesn't let out the whimper. Just breathe. Deep and slow. He knows how to breathe. Really, he knows at some point he was very good at it.

 The monitor vibrates against Tony's fingers every four seconds now. He tips his head and looks at it like he wants to dissect it. "Where did you even find a watch monitor thing like this?"

 "I tinkered a little bit with one I had." Bruce takes the opportunity to explain since Tony raises an eyebrow at him. At least it gets him thinking on something besides the fact that Tony is still touching him. "I had one that chimed and the chimes would get faster as my heart rate went up, but it got loud and irritating so I configured this one to vibrate instead. I can tell how high my heart rate is by the number of seconds between the vibrations, but if it reaches a certain level, it will chime very loudly and I'll know it's in the danger zone."

 "How did you get it to do all that?"

 "I'm pretty sure the vibration mechanism is similar to ones used in cellphones, and I just set it to go off at certain points."

 "Yeah, I mean I thought your thing was medicine and radiation. How did you do this?"

 Bruce shrugs. Every seven seconds. Much safer. Much more acceptable. "I took some things apart and figured it out?"

 Tony places their hands on the table but doesn't let go. "You took things apart and figured it out."

 Bruce nods.

 "No, I don't think you understand. You took it apart. Figured it out. And it _works_."

 "Your point being?"

 Tony laughs and his fingers somehow find their way between a few of Bruce's. "I don't even know how to deal with you. You know all these things, you do all these things, and you act like it's no big deal."

 Bruce opens his mouth to say something, but can't think of what he could possibly say to that so he ends up shrugging again. It really isn't a big deal. He studies a lot. He reads a lot. If something is confusing, he just keeps thinking about it and working on it until it isn't anymore. The process seems very simple in his head.

 "I can't even handle 'I took it apart and figured it out.' That has to be the sexiest thing I've ever heard… ever."

 Bruce laughs and it's easy and natural.

 Tony's eyes light up. His expression grows soft and unguarded, full of a different kind of intensity.  "You are gorgeous when you smile."

 A knot tangles in Bruce's throat. And in his chest. What do you even say to that? "Just. So I know. How drunk are you?"

 Tony shrugs. "On a scale of designated driver to king of all frat boys?"

 "Yeah."

 "In that case… drunk enough to say it. Sober enough to mean it."

 Before he realizes what he's doing, his fingers slip further between Tony's and squeeze gently.

 Tony smirks. "You're thinking about kissing me."

 Bruce stares him down and doesn't falter. "You don't know that."

 "I so know that. Believe me, I can always tell when someone wants to suck face with me. It's my superpower."

 Bruce smiles. Yes, he imagines that is a very accurate superpower for Tony. "Do any of these lines actually work?"

 "I dunno." One of Tony's fingers lightly strokes over the veins in Bruce's wrist. His gaze flicks down to the table. "Are you hard yet?"

 It takes every ounce of strength Bruce has to not react visibly because he wants to squirm and relieve building pressure. Or better yet jump across the table, drag Tony to the floor, and grind against him until… Well, that part was the problem. When the watch vibrates this time, it's against Tony's hand and clearly faster than it was a moment ago. Even Tony's eyes smirk at him. How is he supposed to have any defenses against this? Bruce takes a deep, calming, cleansing breath. "That's a pretty personal question."

 "Ok. How about this one. I am _starving_ ," Tony says with clear multiple layers of entendre. "I'm going to need a lot to fight off the incoming hangover. Do you want to get some food?"

 There it is. This is his chance. They can part ways. End the conversation. And he'll never see Tony again. Walk away and never see him or talk with him ever again. "That's ok. I can let you…" The words get stuck in his throat, but he makes them come out. "Go. Actually. I should. Get going."

 "You can't leave. I haven't even tried to take your pants off yet."

 Bruce tries very hard to ignore the way that makes his heart jump. The fact that it is not going to happen isn't even in question. Getting half-naked or all the way naked especially with someone else… it is not happening. But images start coming to him. What Tony might look like naked. What Tony might do to him while naked. What Bruce could do to Tony while they were naked.

 He really wants to scream at the Other Guy. Was one night really too much to ask? Just one? Or even just one encounter? He has a feeling that if Tony had only one shot, he'd make it well worth it. Bruce exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. It couldn't happen and it wasn't going to happen and he knew it. Even entertaining the idea just made the inevitable empty result that much more disappointing.

 "You need to eat. I'll buy you dinner. Or whatever you call a meal at whatever-the-hell time it is in this part of the world."

 "You… already bought me tea." That wasn't much of an excuse. He can do better than that. Why couldn't he think of anything?

 Tony scoffs. "Billionaire. I have actual billions. Not just my company. Me. Unless you make more than six-figures a year which I'm sure you don't since you say you haven't been able to work, I'm going to buy you dinner. Or unless you want to call it breakfast. Or midnight snack or whatever. I will buy you food. Anything you want."

 All things considered, he really can't turn that down. It's just a bonus that he doesn't want to. "All right."

 "Good." Tony beams. "So. What are you craving?"

 Bruce bites his lip and tries not to crave anything. Pretty sure he doesn't manage. "I'm not picky. I don't eat meat though. Or I'd prefer not to."

 "How do you not eat meat? It's not a meal without meat. It's like dessert. Or a snack."

 "Should I deconstruct the nutritional requirements and components of an herbivorous diet? Or would you rather skip that and jump to partaking in animal flesh?"

 Tony snorts. "Point taken. Let's go."

 Bruce stands and walks close beside Tony - mostly because Tony has a wobbly, unbalanced swagger and Bruce isn’t sure if it's because of the drinks or if it's just the way Tony is.

 When they pass by the front desk, a woman speaking with the receptionist spots them and hurries over to Tony. She's tall and slender with shoulder length red blonde hair and catches them as they wait for the elevator. "There you are! Why aren't you answering your phone?"

 A displeased, guttural sound comes from Tony. "Busy."

 "I've been trying to call you."

 "I turned my phone off."

 "Why would you do that? What if there were an emergency?"

 "You could handle it. I pay you to handle it."

 "Tony, you can't just disappear. What were you busy with?"

 "I can and I did. Tragically, my disappearance didn't last long."

 "I have all the things you should be busy with."

 The look Tony gives her would've stopped a more fragile, timid person, but the woman doesn't back down.

 Bruce supposes he could use this as his cue to exit. Tony has things to do. It's a good excuse to leave. He really shouldn't stay longer. Something inside him deflates and shrinks and sinks in the pit of his stomach. He was looking forward to spending more time with Tony. This would be better though. Easier in the end. He takes a step away from Tony and the woman, hoping he can quietly slip away.

 While in the midst of the most frightening, rapid-fire exchange of circular reasoning Bruce has ever heard, Tony reaches behind his back, doesn't even look, and catches Bruce's arm. Tony continues his convoluted back-and-forth with the woman, who is most likely the assistant he mentioned, and doesn't acknowledge the fact that he's gripping Bruce's forearm, but also doesn't let go. Bruce relents, joins them in the elevator, but shrinks back to the corner and folds his hands together. He could still slip away.

 The woman has Tony sign off on shipments while he fusses about having to take the clipboard from her.

 "Seriously. I know you have a _peeve_. But it's been years. I have to hand you things at some point."

 "I could always build a robot so you didn't have to."

 She flips to another document and points at another line requiring his signature. "Stop being an asshole."

 "I meant for you! To help you out! It could be _your_ personal assistant. You wouldn’t have to deal with me at all. Everyone hates their boss, you know."

 "Now you're just fishing."

 He pouts at her and it's actually, genuinely heartbreaking to Bruce. There's too much truth to the sadness in Tony's expression, however mocking it may be.

 Even his assistant relents a little. "You're only frustrating. Mildly annoying and difficult. That's it."

 "Guess I'll have to work on upgrading that 'mildly.'" He grins his best arrogant, charming grin, and she rolls her eyes, but smiles back.

 "Oh! One more thing." She flips through the stack of files and papers on her clipboard. "You keep receiving calls from a general. Thaddeus Something, I think it was."

 Sharp cold strikes through Bruce. He can't breathe. He can't move. What was he thinking? What was he doing this close to a man who had contact with the person trying to destroy him? The one who wants to turn him into a killing machine? Bruce turns his back like somehow he can force himself to become invisible and they'll forget he exists, but he tips his head to listen and catch them in peripheral vision.

 Tony looks his assistant in the eye and seems unwaveringly sober. "You can tell him to go fuck himself. No, actually, that sounds too nice. Tell him to fuck off, eat shit, and die in a fire."

 Bruce closes a hand over his vibrating watch.

 "Tony," she says in what has to be her best scolding, not-joking-around tone.

 "No. I know what he wants and he can go to hell."

 She frowns but seems to concede a little. "Okay. But Obadiah says we should make an arrangement with him and that he holds a lot of respect and power, and he came to us for a reason…"

 "Yeah, it's fucking bullshit. Ross wants me to design something ‘unique and exclusive’ that will affect his 'invulnerable' target. And I'm not going to."

 The pulse sending blood through Bruce's body is hard and insistent in his chest though it doesn't feel dangerous. It's not fast. Just full. Weighted. For some reason, Tony is on his side.

 The woman frowns harder and purses her lips. "Obadiah is prepared to have a contract drawn up. He thinks it's good business relations and publicity if we do this."

 Tony pushes a button on the wall panel and the elevator stops on the next floor and opens. "I am not even close to joking when I say I forbid it. We are not dealing with Ross if I have to divide _my_ company and divorce Obie from all of it." He extends his hand toward Bruce though Bruce simply follows and doesn't take it. "Now, dear Pepper. Keep everyone away. Don't let anyone make bullshit deals. And I'll see you late tomorrow. I have things to do." He winks, drapes his arm over Bruce's shoulders, and steers him down the hallway.

 Bruce walks slowly. His mind is spinning and it's dizzying. Tony doesn't even know the whole story, doesn't even realize what it is he's doing, and he's still protecting Bruce. He has to say something. He has to think something. "What was that about?"

 Tony waves it away. "Business."

 "I mean. Your whole defiant, rebel-with-a-cause stance."

 Tony shrugs and opens the door to the stairs. They climb up two flights as Tony dismissively says, "There was a scientist, a physicist actually, involved in some freak accident. I didn't know him, but I knew of him."

 Bruce's hands shake. He grips the banister tighter. Tony Stark knew of him.

 "He disappeared and everyone says he's dead, but these assholes keep calling me and asking me to create 'special weapons' that aren't for human or manmade targets, so I'm pretty sure he's not dead. I'm not going to help them make him that way though. He was brilliant and they ruined him and I can't stand that."

 Tony holds open the door to whatever floor they are on, but Bruce stops on the step below the landing. What could anyone say to that? Bruce doesn't even know what to think let alone how to react. He's still quaking, but it's not fear or rage or anything concrete that he can carve fact on. It floods him in the same way though until he's drowning in this abstract, magnificent thing. "You are far more compassionate than you give yourself credit for. You're more compassionate than anyone gives you credit for."

 A bare, soft smile curls one side of Tony's mouth, and Bruce can't handle any more. He closes the space between them, places his hands on Tony's upper arms to bring him close, and leaves a long, lingering kiss on his lips.

 Tony seems shocked at first. It takes him a second before his arms close tightly around Bruce, locking them together. For a moment, Bruce allows himself to drown.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) My first exposure to the character of Banner/Hulk was through the 70s tv show. In that show, they made Banner a physician as well as a physicist, so it's always been in my head that his character was a medical doctor as well as a physics PhD doctor. Pretty sure that isn't true in the comics, and I do think the experimental/theoretical physics is his first love so he's not trained as a surgeon or in some fancy medical specialty. But I like his character having dual degrees because a) he's completely smart enough and b) it makes the whole "Bruce is hiding remote parts of the world playing healer" make more sense to me. 
> 
> 2) I mix my Bruce up with a heavy dose of Mark Ruffalo hippie-ness which includes vegetarianism, environmental activism and other such liberal-ness because I think it makes him a fun contrast to a canonically conservative Tony.


	2. Are You Wonderful Because I Want You

Tony holds onto him, kisses him, like he's the only thing in the world. His hands tangle in Bruce's hair and the tiny bit of scratchy stubble leaves Bruce's lips tingling. Tony's rich cologne, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, the heat from his strong, not imaginary body surrounds Bruce, suffuses into his abstract emotion until it's all just. Tony.

It's overwhelming. Four seconds between vibrations. He fears for his heart and breaks away.

Tony doesn't release him however; he bends his head and touches their foreheads together. Bruce slides his hands to Tony's chest and can feel Tony's own racing heart. Overwhelming just became an understatement, but he leaves his hand where it is, counts the beats that thrum against his fingers. "We were going to have dinner?"

Tony sighs like he's torn between two beloved options. "Yes. Food first." He takes Bruce's hand and leads him to his hotel room.

They compile three menus from restaurants Tony has approved of and order off all of them until the dining and coffee tables in Tony's suite are covered with platters of berries, melons, grapes, cheese, roasted Mediterranean vegetables and assorted mezze, fresh pasta, meatballs, sausages, and fondue with cubed chunks of bread.

Bruce sits on the sofa with a plate in his lap of what is now mostly fruit. Tony is stretched out on the floor beside him, picking at the last of his sausages. He long since gave up on utensils and has taken to licking his fingertips after every bite. It is downright obscene, and Bruce tries to avert his eyes but never quite succeeds for long.

Tony tips his head back so it's resting on the couch and he can look up at Bruce. "True or false: your version of an ideal world would involve Birkenstocks, planting trees, hybrid and electric cars, clean energy powering everything, eating only plants that are obviously organic, free healthcare, earth-based religions, and making love not war."

Bruce chews on a stuffed grape leaf. "It seems you already decided on what was the correct answer."

Tony grins but it's short lived. "Then I gotta ask. What do you think of me?"

"In what respect?"

"I make weapons. I design bombs and guns and… you. You, completely strike me as the kind of person who would be outside wearing flowers and protesting me making them."

Bruce gives him a soft smile. "Possible. I don't hate you though, if that's what you're asking. I've done things and worked on things that I, had I known… Let's just say, there are things I wish I hadn't done."

It's rather vague and not quite on topic as far as Tony knows, so Bruce adds, "I don't like violence. I hate the thought of killing any living creature. But our world is violent. Just because I'd prefer it if everything were based on pacifist ideals doesn't mean I wouldn't destroy anyone who hurt someone I… loved." He looks away and then back to his food.

Even thinking that word in the context of himself just. Hurt. If he thinks on it too much, he'll just end up thinking about _her_. Thoughts of _her_ hurt more than anything and everything.

He picks up a cube of bread and stuffs it in his mouth. "Anyway. The world is full of necessary evils. Which isn't referring to you, for the record. I don't think you're evil. I don't hate you."

Tony looks up at him, contemplative and, well, if it was anyone else and they weren't looking at Bruce, he'd say there's some kind of adoration in Tony's eyes. But that wouldn't be the case here. "What do you think of me?"

Ok, so, maybe what Bruce is seeing is adoration. Something inside him flutters and leaves him feeling lightheaded and ridiculous and like he's somehow exceptional. "I admire you. Your brilliance and tenacity. Even your rather arrogant sense of humor. I wish I could be more like that."

"I like you the way you are." He leans back over the coffee table and picks up a round of sausage. "You sure you don't want any? It's really good."

"No meat."

"Fine." He pops the sausage into his mouth and steals a large grape off Bruce's plate to go with it. "Your loss. German sausage is amazing."

Bruce picks up another grape and offers it to Tony… who decides the best way to accept it is bringing Bruce's hand to his mouth and sucking it from his fingers.

For a few seconds, the only thought Bruce is capable of involves him pinning Tony to the floor and kissing and sucking him until they are the only things left in the world.

Bruce swallows hard and feels the rough heaviness in his voice when he says, "You are shameless."

"You are still not naked, which I thoroughly disapprove of by the way. Just in case I haven't made it clear."

"It's very clear."

"So, what's your hang up, then?" Tony crawls to his knees and climbs up on the sofa next to Bruce. "Because most men who are obviously into me would've already gotten naked and been taken or taken me in several different ways. Actually, most people who are obviously into me would've already been naked, and we could be sitting here basking in awesome refractory period while naked and feeding each other with our hands, and fucking hell, I want you so badly it hurts."

"I wish…" Bruce hurts, too, ok. Hate is not a strong enough word for how he feels about his situation. "I want to. You have no idea how much I want to, but I can’t."

"Right. So. What's the hang up? Tragic erectile dysfunction? Venereal disease? Virginal? Gay virginal? Attached? Married? Dying? Ashamed? Employed by a mafia pimp who doesn't like to share? I suggest you provide an answer because I'll keep going with whatever I can think of and things that are off the top of my head tend to result in people wanting to kick my ass."

Bruce sighs. "None of the above. It's just… dangerous."

Tony squints and seems to be puzzling that one out. "Because you're just so wild and kinky?"

"Because…" He couldn't tell the truth. Obviously. He'd have to lie. Or run away right now. And he really didn't want to run away. What would reasonably make sense? "Of my heart condition. It gets too fast, and there's a high probability of death."

"Just your heart? Is that it?"

"Mostly."

“Well, Doctor, would it make you feel better if I informed you I was thoroughly tested for all known STIs about a week ago and received a clean bill of health? I have plenty of condoms, lube, and other accessories, too. In case you’re wondering. Plenty. Enough for whole armies who want to fuck simultaneously or have giant orgies as, I don’t know, teamwork building exercises.”

Tony carries around enough lube for armies who want to host giant orgies? How is that even possible? That is so not the point of that spiel.

Fortunately, a rare perk of being mutated by radiation was rendering Bruce, or rather his giant alter ego, immune to and apparently cured of all known Earthly diseases. So even Tony’s reputation for promiscuity is hardly a deterrent.

Bruce is just extremely thankful he’s tested all his bodily fluids for radiation toxicity. Unless Tony insists on drinking blood, it’s all harmless. But all of this is irrelevant because Bruce can’t seriously consider this. “I appreciate that. I’m disease-free, too. For the record.” Why include that? It only sends the wrong message.

"How fast is too fast for your heart?"

"Anything over 170 bpm is really bad. Higher than 190 is catastrophic."

Tony scoots closer and lightly runs his hand over Bruce's cheek. "Sweetheart," he says, voice a thick, slow whisper that makes a shiver course through Bruce's whole body. "I can take you to bed and make you come so slowly your beats per minute won't even get over 120."

Everything suddenly feels tremulous and far too warm. Everything in him is so affected by Tony. It's a losing battle. Which is completely terrifying.

Tony's thumb brushes in the barest hint of a touch over Bruce's lips. "Do you trust me?"

That wasn't the question. That wasn't the problem. "I don't trust me."

"How about this." Tony endearingly tips his head to the side. "If you tell me to slow down, I will. If you tell me to stop, I will. No matter how far along we are. I won't even question it. In fact, since I pledge that to every sexual partner, I can specifically promise you I'll be careful. And slow. And won't continue until you're sure your heart is ok with it."

Bruce chews on his lower lip. How good is his control? Because his willpower and self-denial are not doing well at the moment.

What if he could manage this? What if he actually could have sex again? How could he even consider this? How could he put someone, especially Tony, in danger that way? "Wouldn’t it be easier to find someone else and sleep with them? I'm sure there are plenty of people from the conference still running around downstairs, and I doubt you have trouble finding someone who wants you. But we could… you could… go and--"

"I don't want someone else. And if you weren't looking at me like you're seriously dying to have me kiss you, then I would forget it." Tony lightly traces the curve of Bruce's cheekbone. "Do you know you look at me like you love being around me?"

The way Tony says this makes Bruce think not many people do such a thing. "I have been enjoying your company."

Tony's voice is soft, low, and exposed. "Your eyes flutter and you lean in closer when I touch you."

Really? He hadn't even realized. But there's barely any space between them and Bruce has turned so his cheek rests in Tony's hand. Bruce's hand has somehow found its way to Tony's thigh just above his knee. It shouldn't be there, but Bruce can't bring himself to remove it.

He used to take something like this for granted the way most people do. The simplicity of having another human being around. The privilege of gentle and earnest affection. The need for human contact is somehow enormously powerful. Especially when it's been so long since he's had anyone around who even wants to hold his hand.

Tony lets go of his cheek for a moment and points toward Bruce’s nose. "See. That. Whatever is going on in your head, it's like…" He never figures out a way to describe it. A sad, distressed expression overtakes his face.

Bruce folds his hand over Tony's and brings it down. "Kiss me."

Tony doesn't need to be told twice. His arms come around Bruce, capturing and pulling him in, then Tony’s mouth is on his and if Bruce ever wondered what it was like to be claimed in the name of something, he knows now. Tony kisses like he wants to devour Bruce, like he can’t bear to let go.

He brings Bruce in closer, presses as much of their bodies together as he can while they are still sitting side by side. Tony’s tongue slides against his and tastes like tangy, sweet grapes and sausage spices. Bruce’s head swims. His heart pounds. Possessive is tame compared to Tony. But he’s not the only one who can play that game.

Bruce twists his fingers into Tony’s hair, closes his hand in a large fistful, and pulls Tony’s head to the side, exposing his throat. Between open-mouthed kisses, Bruce grazes his teeth over Tony’s neck and savors the vibration of Tony’s groan. His hands clench on Bruce’s shoulders for a moment, then his grip lessens and his hands find their way to the buttons on Bruce’s shirt.

This is really happening. They’re really going to do this. Bruce’s heart pounds harder. He’s clearly lost his mind. He can’t get caught up in this. He can’t lose control. He has to use the sensible, cerebral part of his brain. Not the part that wants to rip off clothing and claim Tony as his. Bruce breaks away and catches Tony’s hands. “Wait.”

Tony stops and searches Bruce’s eyes. His breath falls from parted lips, and it’s hot and damp and heavy on Bruce’s face.

Bruce squeezes Tony’s hands and holds them to his chest. “If we're going to do this…"

“Yeah. You’ll still let me?”

“Yes.” He places a kiss on Tony’s nose. “If we try to do this. I need you to swear if I have to leave, you won't follow me."

Tony tips his head to the side. "…Ok."

"I'm serious. If I have to run out and leave, you have to let me. You can't follow me. You can't have anyone else follow me."

"I got it. I promise. I swear. Is that it?”

Well, that was probably the last excuse he had. Bruce sighs and slides one hand around Tony’s cheek. He’s warm and his stubble is the perfect amount of rough against Bruce’s palm. Why does Tony make him feel like he’s been deprived and frozen for forever and only now being thawed? “Yeah. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

A half smile curls the side of Tony’s mouth. “You can’t. I’m invincible. Now,” he tugs on the waist of Bruce's pants. "No more clothes."

Breathlessly, he laughs and gives in. "Ok." He undoes his belt and pants, lifts his hips, and lets Tony pull them off. He starts to work his hands under Tony’s shirt, but Tony grabs the hem of both layers and pulls it over his head. He tosses his shirts somewhere far out of reach. Bruce doesn’t see where.

Tony is half-naked. He’s gorgeous and half-naked and Bruce really wants to kiss every millimeter of his bare skin and he actually could because Tony would let him and would probably like it a lot. It takes a minute before Bruce notices his shirt is being unbuttoned. His brain apparently short-circuited.

"How long have you had the heart condition?" Tony kisses the underside of his jaw, down his neck, over his right clavicle, down his chest. The buttons near the middle of his abdomen come undone, and Tony’s kisses follow their path down Bruce’s body. His shirt falls open and Tony pushes it off his shoulders.

And Tony expects him to answer questions? Bruce’s reply comes out breathy. “A few years. Three years.”

Tony pauses between kisses and holds Bruce’s shirt halfway off. "Was that the last time you had sex? Before the heart condition?"

"You mean over three years ago? Yes. I haven't been able to since then."

"You mean you tried and had to stop so you ran away and never finished?”

“Sort of. The one time I was with another person, it was too much, and I had to tell her we couldn’t. Besides that, I tried by myself. I tried solo orgasms, but that was over a year ago and I never could—"

"Wait. You haven't even had an orgasm in over three years?"

Bruce shakes his head. Of course, he wasn’t including any nocturnal or unpremeditated emissions or whatever happened when he wasn’t himself because those were completely unsatisfying and didn’t count in the least. "It was too much. I couldn't. Believe me, I tried."

"Over three years?" Tony actually looks like he's in pain. "The last time you tried was over a year ago?"

"Well. Yes. It's far worse getting so close and not being able to finish than not trying at all."

For a few seconds, Tony just stares at him like Bruce has murdered babies or kittens or other fluffy infants and danced around a bonfire bragging about it. "Ok. New plan." Tony hooks his hands around Bruce's calves and pulls him down the couch so he's on his back. He flattens a palm on the center of Bruce's chest. "You. Stay right there. Keep your heart rate slow, relax, all of that. I am going to make you come."

Bruce shivers all over.

Tony trails his fingers over Bruce's sternum and through chest hair. Not teasing. More like reassuring. "Ok?"

More than ok. Bruce nods and tries to keep his heart from speeding. "Yes." He wants this so badly. He needs this badly. Just let everything so smoothly. Just this once. Let him have this. "Please."

Tony stretches out over him and rests his weight on top of Bruce. It's so good. Bare skin against his. The heaviness of another person securing him, protecting him. So warm and real and safe. The watch vibrates every two seconds. He has to breathe. He has to calm down. He has to be ok so he can keep Tony right there and they can keep going. They can't stop now. He might fall apart if they can't continue.

Tony waits though and runs his fingers through Bruce's hair, lightly rubbing his scalp. Bruce touches him, places his hands on Tony’s naked back, feels the slow breaths taken in and expired, feels his own somehow fall into the same rhythm.

Tony kisses him then, lightly, gently. “Better?”

“Yeah.” His heart rate is closer to 90bpm now rather than 160. “How did you…?”

“I can feel it, too. When you’re this close. I can feel your heart.”

It’s not a surprise. It shouldn’t be. Still. The way Tony says it. Bruce’s breath hitches. His mouth goes dry. He swallows hard. He feels helpless, powerless, and doesn’t care. He slides his hands up, cups Tony’s face, and pulls him down for a long, deep, wet kiss.

Tony hums contentedly then moves to kissing Bruce’s cheek and whispering in his ear. “Can I make you come now? Because I really want to make you come.”

Fluttering fills Bruce’s stomach and chest. He tilts his hips up unconsciously, rubbing against Tony’s lower abdomen. “Please.”

Tony presses down and rocks back and forth. Bruce trembles and twitches and tries to hold onto him, but Tony scoots lower, flicks his tongue over one of Bruce’s nipples then the other, and damn it, he never remembered them being so sensitive, but his whole body is nothing but crackling nerves. How is he going to survive this? How are they both going to survive this?

Tony’s tongue trails down Bruce’s stomach and his hand ghosts over the front of Bruce’s boxers. Bruce’s hips jerk involuntarily, pressing himself into Tony’s palm.

Tony leaves a wet kiss on the ridge of Bruce’s hipbone. Iliac crest. It’s the iliac crest. He can’t just forgo the correct terms. “Relax. Breathe,” Tony says. But then he rubs Bruce through thin cotton.

A strangled cry escapes him but Tony seems to appreciate the sound because he presses more solidly and closes his hand around the length.

The muscles in Bruce’s thighs quiver and tighten. He tries to thrust into Tony’s hand. “Please.”

Tony lets go and Bruce makes a pitiful, whiny sound. That wasn’t what he meant at all. But Tony kisses just below his navel and fingers curl around the waistband of Bruce’s boxers and tug them down.

He assumes Tony will keep stroking him or he’ll go back to the nice all-encompassing rubbing, but neither happens. Instead a hot, wet tongue licks the underside from base to tip. Bruce spasms, grips the back of the sofa, and tries to say words but they only come out as garbled, insistent, indignant nonsense.

Tony chuckles and kisses Bruce’s hip again. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” He closes his hand around Bruce this time and strokes slowly. “Feel free to grab my hair and fuck my mouth. I would _love_ if you did that. I love your cock by the way. I can’t stop thinking about you fucking me.”

Bruce is far too unsteady and shaky to do anything more than clumsily reach for Tony and kind of sort of push his head down.

Tony laughs again. “Close enough.” He leads with his tongue and slides it all around the head before closing his mouth over it and slowly, too slowly, moving up and down.

It’s so good. It’s better than he’s felt in so long. But his watch vibrations are getting faster and he’s tense all over and everything in him is strung so tightly but it’s just not enough. It’s never enough and this is why he can never finish. He thrusts his hips up feebly and chokes out a sob.

Tony’s hand slides up and stops in the center of Bruce’s chest. It presses solidly, anchoring him. Bruce holds onto it like a lifeline.

“It’s ok,” Tony says. “It’ll happen. Don’t stress. I will make it happen but you have to relax.”

Bruce works on slower breaths and relieving tension in his torso. Tony grips him and sucks Bruce’s cock back into his mouth, and whatever he is doing, Bruce is suddenly stretched high on a precipice. The intensity turns astronomical. Hard and fast and perfect. He’s so close. So tightly wound and in danger of snapping and falling and breaking. The green simmers inside him, manifested through fear. He’s afraid of hurting Tony, of having to leave him, but he fights like hell to keep it at bay. It’s not even about sex anymore. He’d love to be able to have an orgasm, but he really needs to be able to stay here with Tony.

He’s not going to hurt Tony. He’s not going to leave and he’s not going to lose him. He has control. He will have control. He squeezes Tony’s hand. Tony lifts his so their fingers weave together. Bruce lets go of all the tension.

Tony squeezes and sucks just the right way and then nothing else exists anymore. The dam inside Bruce crashes down. Hot waves flood through him, taking away pain and worry and loss and loneliness, and everything for one moment is blissful freedom. And he’s still himself.

His whole body pulses with pleasure and Tony sucks him through all of it. He doesn’t let go and doesn’t stop until he’s wrung all the sensations out of Bruce and there’s nothing left in him.

Bruce is boneless and melting when Tony crawls up his body. He half laughs-half sobs and works hard to lift his arms so he can wrap them around Tony. “I really didn’t think that would… that I could… have that. Do that. Fuck. I really didn’t think I could anymore.” His eyes feel wet because it’s all so good. It’s been so long and nothing has ever felt this good.

Tony grins and looks at him in some unfiltered, adoring way that seems so unfamiliar but so necessary.

Bruce pulls him down and kisses him hard. “Thank you.” He can’t taste spices or fruit anymore on Tony’s mouth. He only tastes himself, and a rush of vain possessiveness surges through him. He can’t help but slide his tongue past Tony’s lips and savor more of it.

Tony laughs lightly and pulls Bruce in closer.

Bruce has to kiss Tony more and never stop kissing him. Except he’s too wobbly and melted to do that and supply his body with oxygen so he buries his nose in Tony’s neck while he catches his breath.

Tony turns his head and kisses Bruce’s temple. A different, lighter warmth flutters in Bruce’s chest. He rubs Tony’s back with one hand and down his chest with the other. “Give me a minute. Then I want you to tell me how I can return the favor.”

Tony shivers and it rocks through both of them.

Bruce grins against Tony’s neck. “Do you want to come in my mouth? In my hands?” He kisses Tony’s neck just under his jaw. “All over me?” He licks the curve of Tony’s ear and whispers with hot breath. “Inside me?”

Tony clutches him. “Fuck.” He shudders and twists his hips around like he’s seeking contact. “I’ll take secret option E: all of the above. Plus I so want you to fuck me.”

Bruce cups Tony’s face and kisses him. “Ok.” He could never get enough of kissing Tony. “Do you have a preference for which happens first?”

“No," he answers breathlessly, gripping hard and not letting go. "I need all of it.”

God. How could he possibly want this man more? “I want to give you all of it,” he promises against Tony’s mouth. “Where are your… supplies?”

Tony grins. “I’ll get them.” He jumps up and starts digging into a suitcase that's across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hulk being immune to diseases (including HIV) is part of comic canon. Otherwise Bruce would've been more wary about where Tony's mouth had been...
> 
> _ Yes, I had to add fondue. They're in Switzerland! C'mon. XD
> 
> \- New chapter will be up late next week (end of January) after Porn Battle XIV is over. 
> 
> \- Thanks for reading! <3


	3. The Most Entrancing Sight of All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- My birthday is Sunday so I'm a little busy this week. The next update will likely be the 9th or 10th.  
> \- Thank you everyone for reading! <3

Bruce grabs the back of the couch and pulls himself up, still a little dizzy and melty. He goes and sits on the bed with one leg dangling off the side, one leg bent under him, and his hands covering his lap. Not that Tony hasn’t already seen and had his mouth on him, and Bruce should be used to strangers seeing him naked by now, but still. He prefers no one seeing. 

"Ok, here." Tony opens a bursting-at-the-seams leather bag as he walks over to Bruce. "I have condoms." He tosses a handful of the packets on the bed next to Bruce. "Water-based lube. Silicone-based lube -- better for anal." Three large tubes land next to the condoms. Two silicone-based. "Flavored lube. Flavored condoms." Small tubes in various colors and clear packets with neon prophylactics join the pile. "Female condoms. Flavored dental dams - the regular ones are boring. Latex gloves. Vinyl gloves and non-latex condoms in case of allergies." More shiny packets and a cascade of zip-top bags of gloves in more than one size cover everything else before them. "I also have nipple clamps, cock rings - both metal and rubber - a ball gag, a blindfold, handcuffs, and a new-in-package vibrating butt plug bought specially for the use of, well, someone like you. But if you want something in your ass, I'm volunteering right now."

Bruce stares at the enormous, colorful pile. Where to even start? He's seen safer sex lectures with fewer supply options, which is really more of a comment on the lack of education provided in that area, but still. The "enough for whole armies" was apparently not an exaggeration. 

How much sex did this man have? Why the hell is he so keen on adding Bruce to the list? Forget the fact that Bruce's skill level will seem like he's barely left behind the training wheels, but his number of past partners isn't even in the double digits. Even if he includes Tony. But Tony's number must be… No. Don't even go there. Bad line of thinking. Very bad. "I'm pretty sure you just redefined 'ready for anything.'" 

Tony shrugs. "I wouldn't want reminders of the people I've fucked. Especially not in bacterial or viral packages. I don't want to remember anyone."

Bruce's heart stops. He's sure of it for at least a few seconds. There's no blood or warmth or anything flowing through him. Everything just. Stops. 

It's not that there's any reason Tony should want to remember him. Or anyone else. But. Bruce would remember Tony. He remembers everyone he's been with. He can't fathom participating in such intimate acts with someone he doesn't like as a person and doesn't care about at least a little. 

But Tony's different. It's ok that Tony's different. He doesn't have to care about Bruce or anything. But. It's kind of… nicer when someone cares about him, too. Tony doesn't even know his name though. He hasn't even asked. Though if he did, Bruce couldn't answer or would have to lie about it so it's beyond a moot point. 

The real problem is that there is far too much blood flowing to his brain right now. He needs to stop thinking and over-thinking, and just don't think any more right now. There is a half-naked man in front of him who wants to have sex with him in probably any and every way they can think of. That's all he should be thinking about. "Sure," Bruce says. It sounds unsteady. Just because he was surprised. He was caught off guard. Not any other reason. 

Tony's face falls. "I didn't mean you. I didn’t mean I don't want to remember you."

Bruce doesn't look up, doesn't dare meet Tony's eyes, but he laughs lightly and waves it off. "You don't have to say that. It's ok." He tries to nod for emphasis. It's weird and forced so he reaches out and lightly touches Tony's side just above his hip then tries to pull Tony forward. 

"I mean it, though." Tony steps closer and slides his hands over Bruce's shoulders. His fingers weave into the curls falling over Bruce's ears.

It brings back a resurgence of the melting feeling in his stomach. Just the thought of Tony touching him - the way Tony strokes Bruce's hair, the way Tony kisses him and holds onto him and treats him kindly. Then when Tony actually touches him… it's why refraining is just that much more useless. 

"You're not. Like anyone else," Tony says. "You're different. You're not boring or stupid or insufferable."

Bruce rubs his thumb over Tony's bare stomach and looks up with a scrunched frown. "It might be a good idea to rethink your choices in sex partners if that's really how they are or how you perceive them."

Tony scoffs. "You're not like that. You can give me an STI. I wouldn’t mind. Well, I’d mind having one but not that I got it from you or that it'd make me remember you. I'd really prefer it if you didn't give me one though."

That has to be the weirdest declaration of affection Bruce has ever heard. And he is a pretty weird guy. He says some pretty weird things himself. And fairly often. He chuckles and places a long kiss on Tony's stomach. "I'm disease-free. I promise you."

Of course, that's the reason; that's why Bruce is still here and naked even when he shouldn't be. Even when there's every reason not to be here. His own brand of weird and damaged seems to be compatible with Tony's. And Tony makes him feel not so weird and damaged. 

Tony's fingers tighten in Bruce's hair and his lower half presses against Bruce's chest. "Promise me more."

The heat and Tony's smooth skin and the spicy cologne and Tony's hard flesh that Bruce has not felt enough of make dizziness swim through his head. He slips his fingers under the waist of Tony's slacks, unbuttons, and unzips them. "What else should I promise you?"

Tony pushes off his dress pants and kicks them to the side, revealing no underwear as he steps out of them. He's hard - a fully erect, painful kind of hard - and gorgeous and all beautiful sinewy muscles and warm skin and Bruce just wants to lick every inch and make him come over and over and over and never once let him go. 

Tony doesn't give him much time to stare. He climbs on the bed, straddles Bruce's lap, and pulls him into a kiss. Tony's cock presses between them, leaking trails of fluid all over the hair covering Bruce's stomach. He moans into Tony's mouth and lets his tongue slide deeper as he grips Tony's thighs and shoulders until they fall backward on the mattress. 

Tony grinds down and sucks Bruce's tongue, and damn it, Bruce is starting to get hard again. He pushes up as Tony rubs his cock against him and wants so badly to touch him and suck him and feel Tony come. 

Tony pants between fevered kisses. "Promise me everything. I don't care if you don't mean it. Just promise me." 

Bruce catches his breath and searches Tony's eyes for the few seconds that Tony lets him before he kisses Bruce's jaw and down his neck. There's so much need and loneliness and separateness that, really, Bruce can only recognize because he knows all of it far too well. He doesn't have to lie. He doesn't have to _not mean it_. He holds Tony tightly and uses the surplus of strength that always surges through his blood to flip them over. 

Tony gasps and looks at him in a deep haze of arousal. 

Bruce leans over him, covering him and kissing him, long and deep. "I promise," he whispers. "If I could, I'd give you everything."

Tony makes a strangled noise into Bruce's mouth and clutches him hard. 

Bruce smiles, places a kiss on Tony's clavicle, and tries to wriggle out of Tony's not-so-accommodating grasp. "Now, let me work on giving you everything."

Tony's grip lessens a little, enough that Bruce can shimmy downward and settle between Tony's legs. He touches Tony anywhere and everywhere he can, feeling the solid lines of oblique and pectoral muscles, the soft dusting of hair in the middle of Tony's chest. His skin is warm and he's solid and real, and Bruce nuzzles his face along Tony's sternum. He could stay here for hours, days maybe, just resting on Tony's chest, held in his arms and shielded from everything. 

That was not the point of this though. That was not something real or attainable for a vast number of reasons. 

Tony's hands slide up and run through Bruce's hair. He just needs to enjoy this while he can. He turns his face and scatters wet, open mouthed kisses over Tony's chest. Tony makes a needy, breathless noise and presses up against Bruce's abdomen. 

God. He can feel how hard Tony is. He can feel how much Tony wants and needs. Bruce sucks one of Tony's nipples into his mouth, teasing the tiny bit of flesh with his teeth. Tony gasps and curses and grinds himself harder on Bruce. 

Bruce can't resist anymore. He has to feel Tony's cock in his mouth or his hands or something. He has to touch him. He slides down and covers the hard flesh with both hands, gripping lightly, then holding Tony's cock steady as he licks and sucks wet patches all along the shaft and gently massages his testicles. 

"Fuck, yes," Tony sobs and grips the comforter. 

Bruce grins and trails his tongue all over the flushed head, stroking the rest of the length with one hand. When he sucks the first few inches into his mouth, Tony shivers and squirms. Salty fluid leaks onto Bruce's tongue and he has to suck harder and taste more of it. 

It's probably been so long that he is just overenthusiastic about sex in general, but it's just so good. Tony tastes so good, and feeling another cock, hard and heavy in his hands, is amazing. 

And ok. He needs to slow down. He wants to do a lot more to Tony before making him come. Bruce eases off a little, switching over to stroking with one hand. 

When he looks up, Tony is staring at him. His dark eyes are glazed and fogged with lust, his lips are parted, and he's breathing hard and shallow. His gaze makes Bruce's skin feel tingly and overheated. No one ever looks at him like that. 

He licks Tony's cock one more time and then places a simple, solid grip just below the head while he searches through the condoms, lube, and etcetera still strewn all over the bed. Tony whines and thrusts against Bruce's hand. 

"Shhh. Patience." Bruce picks out exactly what he needs and then lets go of Tony all together so he can set up. 

"The reward for patience is supposed to be more touching not less."

Bruce grins and pulls on a latex glove. "Give me a minute."

Tony's eyes grow even darker. He bends his knees and spreads his legs. "Doctor, I am ready for that like you wouldn't believe."

Bruce's grin widens. "Move up and put some pillows under your back."

Tony shoves the covers away and situates himself on three pillows. "Has anyone ever told you, you are fucking sexy when you give orders?"

"Not that I can recall." He moves until he's sitting between Tony's legs

"Well, they suck. You are fucking sexy."

Bruce kisses the medial side of Tony's left knee and guides his leg until its bent back near his torso. Tony's cock rests flat on his lower abdomen and twitches when Bruce opens the silicone-based lube and pours some over his gloved right hand. "Tell me if you need me to stop?"

Tony makes a scrunched, disbelieving face. "I'm fine. Fuck me."

Bruce leans down and rubs wet lips over Tony's cock, licking up the beads of pre-ejaculate seeping from the tip, tracing one slick finger over Tony's entrance. The muscles give easily when he presses a little. He sucks at the same time, and Tony moans and breathes hard. 

How is this actually happening? It is far too good to be happening. But Bruce's finger slides further, deeper, and he moves it around gently and listens to Tony's breathing grow faster. It's good. Bruce is pretty sure anyway. But it could be so much better. 

He lets Tony's cock slide from his mouth as he sits up and brings his finger almost all the way out. Tony lifts his head up and gives him that why-the-fuck-are-you-stopping-now look, but Bruce slicks a second finger and presses both in just a little, enough so he can find that nice spot that isn't too far but he has to bend his fingers just right. Tony's hips jerk up when Bruce glances over it. 

"Fuck." Tony squirms and opens his legs more. 

"Working on it." Bruce smiles as he kisses Tony's thigh and brushes his fingers lightly back and forth over Tony's prostate. "Do you like this?"

"Fuck, yes."

"No, I mean. Which do you like better, this?" Bruce maintains the fleeting brushes, just enough to provide steady stimulation. "Or this?" He presses the lobe gently and keeps the deep pressure as he moves his fingers against it.

Tony flails and grips the mattress on either side of him. "Like that. Fuck. Second one. Hard like that. Fuck. More. More and hard."

Bruce probably could've guessed that one. He bends his fingers and pushes them deep and hard on that spot, then settles back down over Tony and slicks his cock with saliva and pre-cum until he can stroke and suck while he works him with his fingers. 

Tony moans wantonly and bucks against Bruce's mouth and fingers. "Really close," he gasps. "Please don't stop."

Bruce would make a snarky comment, but it would mean stopping. And he can't stop. He has to make this good, and it'd be really good if he never had to stop anyway. The musky, salty taste in his mouth, the tight heat around his fingers, the man writhing because of his touch. Bruce could never have enough of this. 

"I…" Tony tries to say, but that's as much as he can manage.

Hot, thick fluid bursts into Bruce's mouth, and he works his fingers harder until there are more gushes and Tony is practically keening and shaking, and Bruce just wants more of it. Tony grips Bruce's hair and jerks against Bruce's hand until he finally sags and collapses into the mattress. 

Bruce rubs Tony's lower abdomen and carefully withdraws his fingers. He pulls the glove inside out, tosses it in the trash beside the bed, and starts to get up. 

Tony catches his arm and pulls him back. "No, stay. Please? Stay?"

Well, he wasn't intending to leave for good just yet, but Bruce lies down beside Tony all the same. 

He expects maybe to stay for a moment until one of them, likely Tony, falls asleep, but Tony pulls him closer, slides his hand around the back of Bruce's neck, and brings him into a kiss. It's slower than the others have been. Wet and imperfectly aligned and sweet and warmth curls in tendrils along Bruce's spine and through his stomach. 

He rubs Tony's chest. "So, that was ok?" 

Tony laughs, breathless. "Fuck, yes. That was amazing."

Bruce gives him a smile. "Good."

Tony runs a hand over Bruce's cheek and then down his chest. "I want you to fuck me."

"When? Now?"

"Yeah. Now. If you want to."

"You just…"

"I know. Don't care. I just want you."

The warmth tangles in knots in Bruce's stomach. How could he possibly refuse? Just the thought of another orgasm and of being that close to Tony, being inside him like that. Bruce scoots back to where he was sitting and scavenges a condom and more lube. "Do you need…?"

"More prep? No. Just you. Just need you to fuck me."

Bruce's hands aren't steady as he tears the packet open. He hasn't been a virgin for decades, but it's still nerve-wracking. He wants to do it right and make it good and god, Tony's had a lot of people, how can Bruce possibly compare? There's no telling if he'll actually be able to see this the whole way through anyway. One real orgasm in three years might be all he's going to get. 

Of course, he doesn't have to do this. But. The way Tony looks at him and wants him and touches him. Not to mention how Tony is the most gorgeous man he's ever seen. And he's spread out on the bed, stretched and lubed, and asking Bruce very nicely to fuck him. 

The things Tony does to his brain. To all of him, actually. His heartbeat is forceful and rushed, and all he's wanted for hours is to just have Tony everywhere. 

He can do this. He just has to be careful. His body is just saturated with hormones and they make everything fuzzy and rose-colored and unresponsive to everything but the man who seems to think Bruce is something incredible and valuable and worthwhile. 

Maybe it will all dissipate after he's gotten more of it out of his system. Maybe Tony just thinks of him that way because he's saturated with endorphins and alcohol and the like, too. 

Thinking too much. Thinking far too much. Bruce looks away and strokes himself a little so he can be something resembling fully erect. That and it will help eliminate the thinking thing. Why does he feel like such an incompetent teenager?

Tony pushes himself up and covers Bruce's hands with his own. "Lemme." He nuzzles the side of Bruce's face and strokes him with an expert grip. 

It's so good and Tony smells like clean sweat and sex and only faintly like expensive cologne. Bruce rests his forehead on Tony's shoulder and breathes in deeply. After a minute, Tony takes the condom from his hand and rolls it on Bruce. He leaves a kiss on Bruce's cheek and breathes hot in his ear. "Fuck me?"

Bruce grips the hair at the base of Tony's skull and brings their mouths together. He sucks Tony's lower lip hard enough that it's red and swollen. Tony grips his back and shoulders like he just wants more.

He pulls Bruce down on him and says it more insistently this time. "Fuck me."

Bruce runs his hands over Tony's thighs, wrapping Tony's legs up around him. He positions himself and pushes forward carefully until he's engulfed by heat and hardness and Tony. So much Tony. 

Strong, rough hands dig into Bruce's lower back, and Tony moans loudly. "Fuck, yes." He lifts his hips up. "More."

Bruce sighs and tries to get used to how this feels. It has been far too fucking long. He rests his weight on his forearms and thrusts slowly. Every slight movement feels too good to even process. It's all tingly and electric and burns in the base of his spine and all through his cock. Being inside someone like this. Being this close. Feeling wanted and needed. It's so good, it doesn't even feel real. 

And god, this is _Tony_. A man he respects and idolizes and in actuality, is nothing like the media makes him out to be. He's so much more vulnerable and kindhearted and layered. 

No, that's still thinking too much and about things he shouldn't dwell on. Bruce speeds up and lets the heat devour him, angling his body so he rubs against Tony's hardening cock with every thrust. 

Tony's hands slide over him, clutching the back of his shoulder and near the nape of his neck. He pulls Bruce down to him and brings their mouths together, kissing him desperately. His forehead and chest glisten with a sheen of sweat, and he bends his legs back more, wrapping them higher, letting Bruce slide deeper. He moans and arches up, voice ragged and uninhibited. "More. So good. Need more of you."

Bruce slips his hand under Tony's neck and tilts his head up for better kisses. He can guess exactly how Tony likes it. "Harder and faster?"

"Fuck, yes."

No thinking any more. Bruce slides his hands under Tony, gripping his shoulders and using it as leverage to fulfill Tony's wish. Harder and faster and pressing Tony's cock between them. Bruce drags his teeth over Tony's throat, sucking enough to leave broken blood vessels.

It's best he's felt in ages, not counting earlier in the evening, and Bruce would never dream of stopping. 

Until the watch he's been ignoring chimes in a loud, piercing frequency. 

His heart is pounding. He's so selfish. Imprudent. Cruel. It would take just breathing at him wrong and he'd change.

Bruce breaks away and clutches his chest. The watch reads 184. Not now. Please, not now. He has to come back from this.


	4. Afraid He'll Hear the Way Your Heart is Beating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Ok, it was mean where I left off. I'm sorry. I finished this up fast so here! Chapter 4!  
> \- Will update some time during the week of the 10th. :)

Tony's immediately at his side. "It's ok." He rests a hand on Bruce's back. 

"Don't. Please, don't." Bruce tries to curl inward on himself. Tony can't touch him. Shouldn't touch him. He's dangerous. He's a freak. His breaths are shallow and broken. How could he ever think he was human enough to do this? "I'm sorry."

Tony shakes his head. "No, are you ok?"

His heart seems slower. The watch isn't chiming even if it is vibrating every few seconds. His heart rate must be somewhere in the 165-170 range. He can come back from that. He's not going to change. Not. He's strong even if he's stupid and uncaring. Strong is all he is. "Yeah," he says though it sounds more like a question than an answer. 

"Here." Tony reaches out but doesn't touch until Bruce nods. He guides Bruce back until he's lying down on the bed, and then curls up beside him and lightly rubs Bruce's chest. "Just breathe."

Bruce closes his eyes and works on deep breathing. Stupid. Heartless. How could he do this? He could've hurt Tony. He could _kill_ Tony. At least he doesn't feel Hulk-ish. Just selfish and cruel and horrible. 

"I'm sorry," Tony whispers.

Bruce turns to look at him. "It's not your fault. I should've known better. I just got… caught up in it."

"No, but I promised you. I promised I'd be careful with you."

"You were. You are." Bruce cups Tony's cheek. "I'm sorry I…" What? Can't fuck him? Almost killed him? Could've killed him? Sorry that Bruce is actually a monster and Tony doesn't know it? "Everything. I'm sorry."

Tony should leave. Or throw Bruce out since technically, this is Tony's hotel room. Or he should ask if Bruce can get him off again since Tony is still hard and unfinished and then Tony can throw him out. 

But Tony strokes Bruce's hair and caresses his chest and holds him until the watch isn't even vibrating. It doesn't take long for it to happen. He just… relaxes. Calm washes through him. 

He traces Tony's cheek and the line of his jaw and the red mark he left on Tony's neck. He's so gorgeous and handsome and beautiful. And caring. Bruce still can't figure why Tony wants him. Not going to argue though. 

He runs the back of his hand down Tony's body and leaves it near Tony's hip. "If you want, I can help you finish. Make you come again."

The hint of a smirk appears on Tony's face. He pushes up and slides on top of Bruce, legs falling on either side of Bruce's. "Ok, but only if I can make you come again, too."

Knots twist in Bruce's stomach. "I can't. It's ok. I'll help you though."

"I did it before. I can do it again. Let me control it this time. Then you won't wear yourself out and make your heart go speed racer. You can fuck me like this," Tony rubs his ass over Bruce's groin. "And we'll go slow and hard. It's even better than fast. Drives you crazy and drags it out and I won't let anything bad happen to you."

What can he say to that? _I'm only worried about my secret monster alter ego killing you?_ He can pay closer attention this time. He wouldn't be exerting as much effort in this position. Though there's still that part where he's a horrible person for even considering trying again.

"You still look worried." Tony tips his head. "And kind of upset."

"I don't want to hurt you," comes out before Bruce thinks about how that won't make sense to Tony.

Tony's weight shifts so it's more on his legs and not on Bruce. "It's ok if you don't want to. You can tell me."

"No, it's that I do."

Tony leans down over him and kisses him. "Then let me. We'll be more careful. I can take care of you. I'll protect you."

Something inside Bruce flutters, and he's sure Tony just says these things because they're pretty words that would make anyone melt into a gelatinous mess and result in Tony getting his way and whatever he wants. But they still sound so good. 

It doesn't matter if they're real or not right now. They're nice to hear, and Bruce really needs something nice and good like that right now. Because then he's not so horrible. Maybe he even deserves to be treated like he isn't. 

At the very least, when Tony says sweet things like that, Bruce feels like he could deserve kindness. He gives Tony a smile. "Ok. But…"

"I know. Slow careful. You pay attention to your watch. I'll handle the orgasms. I'm awesome at orgasms."

Bruce laughs. How he can go from feeling worthless to being filled with this pervasive calm is nothing short of incredible. He actually feels cared about. That hasn't happened in years. Actual years. "I'm sure you are. In fact, that one I had was…"

"Earth-shattering?" Tony lifts Bruce's hand and leaves a kiss in his palm. "Remarkable?" He kisses Bruce's fingertips. "Miraculous?" Tony licks one finger and sucks it into his mouth. "Best you've ever had?"

"Yes, and I shall compose sonnets and symphonies and quadratic equations all based on the exponential excellence of the orgasm you provided me with."

Tony presses Bruce's finger between his teeth. "You can be kind of a smart-ass."

Bruce laughs. "And what are you?"

Tony grins and kisses the side of Bruce's neck just under his jaw. "No, I like it. It's awesome." He trails his tongue over the pulse in Bruce's throat. "And don't think I don't know that there's a hickey on my neck with your signature on it."

Bruce bites his lip and shrugs. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tony's lips close over the pulse and he sucks hard. 

Bruce's breath catches, his dick throbs against Tony's ass, and Tony just grinds down on him. 

"I love this," he murmurs somewhere near Bruce's clavicle. "I haven't had a man in ages."

Ages. Right. It's been something like ten years for Bruce. "I'm curious. What is your definition of 'ages'?"

"Couple months. Some of us didn't attempt the horribly depressing sentence of celibacy. Still. It's been too long. I love this," he grips a fistful of Bruce's chest hair and tugs gently. "And this." He rubs his hand over the more-than-week's worth of beard growth on Bruce's face. "And this," he reaches behind his back and squeezes Bruce's cock before directing it back inside him. "Ok? You ok?"

Bruce sighs forcefully and wets his lips. "Yes."

Tony takes Bruce's hands and brings them to his thighs as he rocks his hips back and forth. He closes his eyes for a moment and braces himself with one hand on the bed the other on Bruce's chest. He grins as he pulls himself up slowly and sinks down hard. "You feel really good."

Really good is incredibly insufficient. Bruce is warm and sweaty and covered in nothing but heat. He can feel the power and strength in all Tony's muscles. Every time Tony moves, Bruce is wound tighter, pulled deeper. Metaphorically. Maybe literally. Likely both. He has to breathe through his mouth to feel like he's getting enough oxygen. His lips go dry. His mouth goes dry. He squeezes Tony's thighs, holding the other man to him, tilting his own hips up for more. 

Tony grips Bruce's arm with the hand that had been on the bed and speeds up his movements. He's flushed and his dark hair clings to his forehead. "Love this position. Best ever."

His nerves feel electric - sparking and burning anywhere they're touching. "Yeah?"

Tony grins. "Yeah. Can feel you deeper." He slows and lifts up until it feels like they aren't even joined anymore. "And I like controlling it."

Bruce digs his fingers into Tony's flesh. "I'm sure you do."

The hand on Bruce's arm slides over his chest and pinches his right nipple. Bruce arches up and tries to thrust back inside Tony, but Tony moves forward and they don't connect.

Bruce slumps back into the mattress. "Ok, now you're just teasing."

"Hmm." Tony rubs his fingertip over Bruce's nipple. "Enjoying. It's not often I find someone who's a) fun to tease and b) awesome for slow sex."

"You can be bad for slow sex?" Actually, that made sense. It required more time spent with someone, and Tony doesn't seem fond of his former partners. 

"Oh, yes. I could spend days on you though. I love the way try to pull me closer. The way you look at me like I'm water in the middle of a desert."

That's ridiculous. It can't be truth, but Bruce's face feels hot. "I don't."

Tony grins and reaches between them until he can sink back down on Bruce's cock. "You do."

Bruce moans softly and presses his lips together. 

Tony's hands rub over Bruce's chest as he leans down. "See? There. When you look at me just like that. Like dying of thirst."

Bruce's lungs fill with Tony's breath and he could come up with some kind of clever retort, but can't think why and can't think anything beyond feeling Tony, warm and strong and all around him. Everywhere. He tilts his chin up, hoping, wanting. 

Tony's mouth slides over his, molding their lips together. "I love the way you sound. I love the way you kiss me."

All right, Bruce can fully commit to becoming a gelatinous mess. There really isn't another option. He swallows hard but his voice still sounds deep and rough. "I love… when you kiss me."

Tony smiles gorgeously and rewards him with another kiss. Bruce is falling apart. Unraveling. Tony strokes his cheek and draws his legs up so he's in more of a crouching position. "Watch me, ok? Don't take your eyes off mine."

Bruce nods and makes himself not look away as Tony slides up and down on him, taking him deep, pulling at all the loose threads that will make Bruce come apart. He's not afraid of becoming the Other Guy. Even that feels so far away and not him anymore. There's no green. Only red. Tony is red and vibrant and sex and fire and passion. It's all in Tony's eyes. 

Bruce can't look away. He doesn't want to, but he reaches out and searches somewhere to the left. Lots of plastic and rumpled covers and little packets, but then he lands on a large tube. The one he used before. He opens it and warms a little in his hand without looking then grips Tony's cock and strokes him. 

"Jesus, fuck." Tony groans and sinks down harder. "I love your hands. Love your dick. Come in me."

Bruce jerks his hand fast over the tip. "Your mouth is filthy."

Tony laughs. "You bet it is."

Bruce grins back at him until his whole body starts tightening. He bites his lip and closes his eyes for a second, gasping for breath. 

Tony's hand rubs over his chest. "It's ok, it's ok. Look at me."

When Bruce does, air doesn't matter any more. His heart doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Orgasm crashes through him and he clutches Tony until it stops and fizzles away. He resumes stroking and lets Tony fuck himself hard and fast until he shoots all over Bruce's stomach and chest. It's hot and sticky, and Bruce kind of wants to keep it for a while. 

Tony leans down and kisses him and Bruce tries to memorize exactly how it feels, how it tastes. He tries to keep it locked away and his forever.

"How's your heart?" Tony taps the left side of Bruce's chest with two fingers. 

Was that why Tony kept his hand there the whole time? He was looking out for Bruce? "Good. Safe." His heart is safe with Tony? That sounds very wrong. Not safe. Even if he feels safe. Even if it is. It'd never end that way. "I mean. Normal."

"Good." Tony smiles softly and strokes Bruce's face.

Something warm and strong and pervasive winds its way through Bruce's chest and around his heart. 

This isn’t love. None of this means love. However friendly, concerned, considerate, or affectionate Tony is with him, it’s not love. Post-coital tenderness just feels like it sometimes. But it’s a false illusion. Deceptive feelings produced by an onslaught of pleasure chemicals. Not facts. Nothing but neuropeptides effecting positive feedback mechanisms. 

Bruce’s chest suddenly feels tight and constricted. Whatever was warm and strong in his heart is actually icy and painful. 

“Hey.” Tony strokes Bruce’s forehead, brushes long curls from Bruce’s eyes. He bends down and presses kisses to Bruce’s cheeks and forehead and nose. 

A knot tangles in Bruce’s throat; his breath hitches when he tries to speak. Tony settles on top of him even with all the wet, sticky fluid, and holds him tightly, burying his face between Bruce’s neck and shoulder. 

Bruce closes his eyes. It's just been so long. It's not the sexual aspect even though it's been a long time for that as well. It's just… having someone this close. 

Touch is necessary for health and well being, and without that kind of benevolent human contact, there's an increased risk of depression, anxiety, even aggressive behavior. Ironic considering his situation. And his whole life, but god, he does not need to break open that can of worms. 

He places his hands on Tony's back and returns the hug. It's completely reasonable that he needs this. It's logical that it would have a profound affect on him. There are plenty of studies in biology and human development supporting the idea that touch deprivation is harmful and stressful, and touch causes a release of oxytocin, which promotes feelings of tranquility, connection, and trust. It's all chemical, hormonal, scientific. 

That's why he doesn't want to let go. That's why he's feeling so attached to Tony. That's why he's terrified and aching at the thought of being without Tony. 

Bruce doesn't need to justify anything. Tony seems perfectly content holding him. After a few minutes, he's sure Tony has fallen asleep. Bruce has no desire to move him though. He runs his hands lightly over Tony's back, traces the contours of bone and muscle. He's strong and warm and real. 

Tony hums and kisses Bruce's shoulder, then neck, then cheek. "You ok?"

Bruce nods. "Thought you'd fallen asleep."

"I could." Tony grins. "I'm gonna get cleaned up though. You wanna…?" He motions with his head toward the bathroom. 

That would probably lead to another round. As good as it would be, Bruce is 95% sure he would not be able to survive it at the moment. "No, that's ok. Don't really want to move."

"Ok." Tony kisses him and then pulls away and makes a disgusted face. "You're right. Moving is a bad idea. Very bad. I'm going to sue for damages and emotional distress and severe repugnance." 

"Not sure that's possible."

"Fuck that. I'm Tony Stark. I can if I want to."

Bruce smiles. "Ok."

Tony slides off the bed and staggers over to the bathroom. 

Bruce sighs and closes his eyes. He feels messy and sticky and cold, but he'll fix that once Tony is done. For the moment, he can replay Tony coming all over him. That was good. Better than good. Messy and sticky are so worth it. 

"Here," Tony says, standing beside the bed. He places a warm, wet washcloth on Bruce's chest and another quick kiss on his lips. "I'll be right back." He returns to the bathroom and the shower starts running.

The next time he overhears talk of how Tony Stark only thinks about himself, Bruce really hopes he can tell this story. He takes the washcloth and cleans himself off, discards the condom, then gathers all the safer sex paraphernalia and returns it to the black leather toiletry bag. 

He starts making the bed, which survived with only some tangled sheets and covers, but stops after fixing the sheets. Maybe he should get dressed. Maybe he should get dressed and leave. Tony hasn't exactly invited him to stay. 

It might be close to two or three in the morning but there's no reason Bruce can't make it across the city to the attic apartment he's had for almost two months. It's empty there. And cold. He isn't even allowed a pet. Although he couldn't handle another tragedy like that again. If he even thinks too much about it, he will turn rageful and green. 

Bruce rearranges the pillows and covers neatly and tries not to think about how nice it would be to sleep in this bed. How nice it would be to sleep next to someone. He walks across the room though and searches until he finds all his clothes. He's stepping into his boxers and pulling them up his hips when Tony reemerges. 

Tony stops rubbing a towel over his chest. His wet chest. God, he is achingly attractive. "What the hell?" Tony gestures with the towel. "What's with the clothes and the standing up and the bed -- did you make the bed?" 

"Uh. Yes?"

"Are you not staying?"

Does Tony want him to stay? "I… I can. Not like I have…" Anything. That's far too depressing. But anywhere isn't much better and anyone might actually make him break down into tears. Not sure how else to finish that sentence. 

"You should." Tony stands there with clear tension in his limbs and torso. "It's late. It's dark out. It's not America. You are American, right? You sound American."

Bruce has a feeling that "unfortunately" is not an answer that Tony would approve of even jokingly. So he steps toward the bed, stands, and waits beside it. 

"You're sticking with the clothes? Really?" Tony finishes drying himself off, turns off the lights, and pulls Bruce down onto the bed with him. "I worked hard to get you out of those."

Bruce turns on his side facing Tony. "I can take them off."

"Do that. I disapprove of you anything but naked."

"What if it's freezing out?" Bruce pulls off his boxers and drops them on the floor. 

Tony pulls the blankets around them and scoots closer. "Ways to handle that." He's clearly smirking as he gives Bruce a kiss. It leaves Bruce more than a little lightheaded. 

Bruce can't quite see Tony's face in the dark yet, but he strokes Tony's cheek and runs his fingers through damp, sleek hair before letting his hand rest in the middle of Tony's chest. He focuses the strong pulse of Tony's heart. The repetition is soothing. Comforting. He actually feels safe and peaceful, and closes his eyes.

"Sleepy?" Tony asks.

"Mmhmm." He could actually have some decent rest like this.

Tony lifts Bruce's hand, places a kiss on the side of his index finger, and then puts it back on his chest with his own hand covering it.

Bruce would pull him in closer until they were actually snuggled together, but exhaustion claims him first and he's lost to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The reference to the tragedy in Bruce having a pet comes from the Norton!Incredible Hulk movie where Ross' men shot Bruce's dog. Worst thing EVER. I gross sobbed.


	5. All My Life I'll Dream of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce is very Cinderella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This is a Very Long Chapter. O_o Hope you enjoy!  
> \- Will update sometime next week! (Feb 18-24)  
> \- <3

The room is dark and unfamiliar, and Bruce has to wait for his eyes to adjust. 

It's empty. Cold. The spot on the bed beside him is empty and cold. Why would it be anything else? How could that possibly happen? Bruce can't have that anymore. Why would anyone want to sleep beside a monster? 

It doesn't matter that Tony doesn't know. He would react the way everyone else does. 

Oh, and there's the part where Tony could create weapons that would hurt the Other Guy. _Where is that supposed intelligence, Banner?_ He knows ionizing radiation and physiology sure, but pragmatism took a huge hit somewhere along the way. 

Bruce should have left. He never should have stayed after they slept together because waking up like this - alone when someone else is supposed to be there and should be there and he wanted to wake up to _her_ every morning but now he's thousands of miles away and can never go back - is the worst feeling in the world. 

If only he could fall asleep and never wake. 

Why is he awake? It's quiet. The clock reads 4:42. There's no sign of Tony on the couch or the sitting area and the side of the bed opposite Bruce has clearly been vacant for a while. Where did Tony go? 

No, that doesn't matter. Bruce can get dressed and leave. He's going to. He pats the floor until he finds the boxers he left there. 

It should be better when he puts them on, but it was so good without them, it was so good being with Tony. 

Bruce's seriously kidding himself if he thought this would end any other way. He steps carefully in the darkness toward the sofa. Where his clothes are. Then he'll leave. 

But then he hears Tony. 

There's light coming from under the bathroom door. And there are horrible, retching sounds. Tony's vomiting. Or being ripped apart molecule by molecule. Either way it can not be pleasant. 

And Bruce was ready to walk out the door. He can clearly picture Tony leaving the bathroom to find the bed empty. He can imagine the crushed look on his face, the way he'd slump in defeat. Maybe Tony prefers sleeping alone. Maybe he wouldn't be bothered by it. Bruce suspects that isn't the case even if it's likely wishful thinking. He'd like to think that Tony would care if he disappeared. 

He walks to the bathroom door and knocks lightly on it. "Tony?"

Something that sounds like a groan and a whimper answers him. 

Bruce starts to shiver in the cold and crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you ok?"

Another groan. "Nope. Dying."

Well, if anyone needed a definition of drama queen… "Can I come in?"

"You know. I like kinks. I love kinks. I don't know that watching me puke everywhere is a good kink. It's not very fun. Kinks should be fun."

Bruce rubs a hand over his face and tries very hard not to laugh. "Ok. I'll wait here then."

"Nah, it's fine. There are videos of it online so who gives a shit?"

Bruce opens the door. Tony is curled around the toilet, naked and clutching a towel around his torso as he shivers. Bruce scans the bathroom and pulls a thick, white bathrobe off the hanger on the door. He drapes it around Tony and tucks his arms in the sleeves. "There are videos online of you vomiting?"

"It was Vegas. And a bachelorette party. There were drag queens. Who are awesome to make out with by the way. And seriously? Again with the clothes? Are you trying to hurt me?"

Bruce brushes hair off Tony's forehead. It's curly and slightly damp. His skin is clammy. Bruce tilts Tony's head up a little and inspects his eyes. Pupils dilated but Tony focuses on Bruce well enough. "No. It's cold." He stands and fills a cup with water. "I didn't think you'd be hungover like this. You seemed fine."

"Yeah, well, I ignored rule number one."

"Rule number one?"

Tony lifts his head off his arm that's stretched around the toilet. "Never stop drinking."

It will only encourage him if Bruce smiles. He kneels down and offers Tony the water. 

Tony makes a tiny, strangled noise, purses his lips, and scrunches his face. "Can you… set it down?"

"It will help. You should drink some water."

"No, that's fine. I will. Just. Set the cup on the floor?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow but does so. 

"It's… I have a thing. It's a peeve. It's not you. It's anyone. Everyone. I don't like things handed... It's a peeve." 

"Didn't you eat a grape from my fingers?"

"That's different. That wasn't handing me things. It was me taking… It's not the same. I was seducing you. It's different."

"Ok."

Tony picks up the cup and drinks. "Look, Doctor Squared. I listen."

"Good. Drink all of it. I'll be right back." Bruce walks out to the sitting area and rummages through his jacket pockets before he returns with two large pills. He refills Tony's glass, sets it on the floor, and places the pills on Tony's thigh. 

"Whoa, doctor. What sort of fun drugs do _you_ carry around?"

Bruce sits on the floor next to Tony. "It's a multivitamin. Do you want to see the bottle?"

The disbelief on Tony's face is astronomical. "Who carries multivitamins around? Pregnant women? Because I've slept with pregnant women. And pregnant men who felt born with the wrong genitalia but still had the parts to be pregnant, and I don't think you're either of those. You're not even giving me Advil?"

"Are you experiencing nausea?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Then no. It's a gastric irritant and will only aggravate GI symptoms. So will ibuprofen, which can also cause kidney dysfunction when you're dehydrated. And alcohol metabolism enhances acetaminophen's toxicity. Therefore. Vitamins. That will help."

Tony turns on his side and rests his head on his own shoulder. "I dunno if I like the medical doctor thing anymore. Except. The fact that you refer to it as 'acetaminophen' instead of 'Tylenol,' just makes me want to get you naked and orgasming all over again."

Bruce rests his hand on Tony's knee and rubs his thumb over the patella. The action seems so simple and customary and familiar. But it's not any of those things. It can't be customary. It won't be. He retracts his hand after a few seconds. "How is it you were able to… do what we did if you were still relatively drunk?"

"Oh, I can always fuck when I'm drunk. And I was just nicely buzzed then. As long as I'm horny and/or fucking someone, the hangover doesn't even register. It's usually just when I hit BAC zero. And then I puke a lot. And then I'm fine."

Bruce nods and pulls his knees up to his chest. The floor is very cold. He was cold before, but this is very, very cold. 

Tony nudges him with his foot. "You can go back to bed. I think I need to throw up again."

That would still be cold. "Do you want me to? Or do you want company?"

Tony looks sideways up at Bruce with a rather hopeful little smile. Bruce gets up and retrieves the second robe from the back of the door, then sits down close to Tony and runs a hand over his back.

Tony does end up vomiting one more time. Bruce keeps rubbing his back and brings him more water. Tony makes a face, like it's just one more thing to puke up, but he drinks it and takes the vitamins after they've waited for fifteen minutes with no more vomiting. 

Bruce finds a toothbrush and toothpaste in the small bag on the bathroom counter and leaves them in front of Tony, then helps him back to bed once he's done rinsing his mouth. 

Tony lies down on his back in the center of the bed and groans. "I hurt everywhere."

Bruce shrugs off the robe and slides in beside him, pulling the covers around them. He stretches one arm over and around Tony's head and the other across Tony's chest until he can hold him in both arms. He strokes Tony's hair and gently presses his fingers against Tony's temples. 

Tony makes an aching, blissful kind of sound and places a hand on Bruce's arm. Very quietly, he asks, "Did you think I left you?" 

Technically? No. "I thought. I'd worn out my welcome."

There's a squeeze on Bruce's arm. "Not even when you only gave me vitamins."

Bruce leaves a kiss in Tony's hair and massages his forehead until Tony finally sleeps. It's nice to feel like a protector for the moment rather than a destroyer. He holds Tony close until he drifts off again and tries not to think about morning. 

~*~*~

There are arms around Bruce when he wakes and someone spooned behind him, warm against his back. Not just someone. Not just anyone. Bruce hugs the arms around him, then traces the soft hair on Tony's forearm, savoring the feeling of being held. This is what he was aching for. 

Tony must've lost the robe sometime while sleeping because he's completely naked and pressed against Bruce. He nuzzles into the back of Bruce's neck then trails kisses over his shoulder. 

Bruce's chest suffuses warmth. "Feeling better?"

"Mmhmm," Tony murmurs against Bruce's skin. "So much better." His hand drifts down Bruce's abdomen. "Wanna see?"

Like he wouldn't believe. Bruce grins. "Are you insatiable?"

"Basically." He grazes his teeth over Bruce's neck.

Bruce sighs and drops his shoulder to give better access. "Then yes, I want to see."

"Totally thought I'd have to convince you."

Bruce laughs and rocks back against Tony's naked body. "I want you."

The grip on him tightens. "Really? I can have you?"

Bruce traces circles around Tony's knuckles. "Not sure what your definition of 'have' is. But yes. You can have me." He turns his head back to see Tony's reaction, and Tony kisses him, deep, burning, lips molding and squishing together in a way that makes Bruce dizzy and fevered and defenseless. 

Tony trails his tongue lightly over Bruce's bottom lip, and Bruce has to suck it into his mouth until their lips are crushed together and there's a possessive grip in his hair. 

Bruce whispers, low and full of need, "I love when you kiss me." 

Tony teasingly brushes his lips against Bruce's mouth, letting the stubble scratch and tingle his skin. "I believe you've said that."

"Figured you might appreciate another data point."

"Jesus," Tony groans and grinds himself Bruce. "You are so fucking hot."

Bruce says between kisses, "Why don't you take me then?" He nudges Tony's face with his nose and places his mouth close to Tony's ear. "Make me yours."

"Two seconds. Lose the boxers before I rip them off you." Tony lets go, turns away, and rummages around for something on the other side of the bed. 

There was more than enough ripped clothing left in Bruce's wake; he slides his underwear off and Tony returns with supplies. He pulls on a latex glove and squeezes lube over his fingers.

Bruce starts to turn on his side, not facing Tony.

"Wait." Tony touches his shoulder. "Turn this way." He guides Bruce so his lower half is turned to the side but most of his back rests flat on the bed. He leans over Bruce and looks at him with dark, widely dilated pupils, gaze hungry, riveted as he kisses Bruce and presses slick fingers against him.

Bruce was hard before but there's no question about it now. Now, he needs.

Tony's voice is raw and full of the same need. His breath flows hot and damp over Bruce's lips. "Hold your leg up."

Bruce wraps his arm around his thigh. "Like this?"

"Yep." He grins and kisses Bruce as he slides a finger inside. "Perfect."

Bruce moans brokenly and can't seem to get enough air into his lungs. Tony's fingers work into him with slow, solid strokes. They rub gently, lightly, teasingly over the sensitive skin inside and outside then they bend and brush over just the right spot and Bruce squirms and pushes against him for more.

He feels flushed and drowning, flooded with heat, and he just needs Tony. He needs more Tony. Can't have enough. Tony keeps everything slow and measured though. He takes his time, never going fast or hard, never more than just past the maddening side of teasing.

Bruce is not one to be ashamed of begging, especially when concerning sex, but he can't form words anymore. He's lost the ability to coherently articulate just how much he needs Tony inside him.

It's the only consolation he has when Tony withdraws his fingers and discards his glove because maybe, finally, Bruce can feel for a few seconds like he isn't falling apart. 

Tony rolls on a condom, slicks himself with more lube, and sidles up behind Bruce, pulling him close. 

Bruce grips the sheets with one fist and stops breathing until Tony finally presses into him. He tips his head back and can't suppress the breathy moan. It burns, everything burns, and he bites his lower lip and aches to be consumed by it. 

Tony brushes hair off Bruce's forehead, voice full of something like reverence. "You're so beautiful."

Right now, Bruce can almost believe Tony truly thinks that. He rocks against Tony, trying to push him deeper. "Please. Need you."

Tony grips him tightly and thrusts hard but slow and deep, only withdrawing a little, and Bruce comes apart with every tiny movement. 

"Let go of your leg. Put it over mine," Tony says, breathless. When Bruce does, Tony reaches over him and grasps Bruce's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. 

"Oh, god. Tony." Bruce moans and grips whatever he can. "Tony."

Tony's movements slow and then stop completely. 

Bruce nearly sobs. "Please don't stop." He pants for a moment then assures, "I'm ok. Please." He looks back at Tony, and then gets it. Tony doesn't remember his name. He doesn't know that he never knew it in the first place, but he can't even guess and it bothers him. It's written all over his face. "I didn't tell you. It's ok. Please don't stop."

A flicker of sadness floods Tony's eyes, but disappears almost as quickly. Then Tony thrusts fast into him. 

Tony had to be crushed when Bruce didn't disclose and it makes his chest hurt and guiltiness twists in his stomach, but then Tony's stroking him again and buried deep inside him and Bruce is already breaking apart. He can't think anything anymore. He reaches back and clutches Tony to him. 

It's so good and like he can feel Tony everywhere and he wants Tony everywhere and in him and his. He almost moans Tony's name again, but bites his lips together and lets out a strangled cry instead as he comes all over Tony's hand and his own stomach. 

Tony holds onto him tightly and thrusts for another half a minute until he comes, too. 

Bruce grips the arm around him and doesn't let go. God, Tony's going to think he's excessively clingy after sex. All right, maybe he detests sleeping with someone and then having them immediately push him away and leave. Because that's terrible and it's happened to him more times than he wants to think about. 

But really, he doesn't want Tony to think he was being rejected or whatever made the sadness fill his eyes. Maybe Tony wants to push him away and leave though. Bruce deserves it. 

He lets go of Tony and suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. He twists them together and tries to move away. 

Tony holds onto him. "No, wait. You don’t have to move." He rubs Bruce's stomach lightly in the space between his lower, false ribs. His hand moves up and down with Bruce's breaths, and it's somehow steadying and comforting. Bruce lets himself relax under the touch. 

Enjoy it while it lasts. Tony still inside him. Arms around him. Embers of orgasm slowly burning out. He sighs and turns his head to look at Tony. "I forgot how much I liked this."

"Happy to remind you." Tony kisses his shoulder. "I don't do this you know."

Bruce raises an eyebrow and gives him a pointed look. 

"Not that. Sex, yeah sure. Sex is whatever. It doesn't mean anything. I meant morning after. Actually even before that. I never stay the night. I never sleep next to anyone. Never."

Bruce watches the hand on his stomach and wants to cover it with his own. "I could've left."

"No, I wanted you to stay. Why didn't you tell me I hadn't asked what your name was?"

Bruce shrugs. How can he sideline that question? If he says it doesn't matter, Tony would want to know why. "Wasn't really thinking about it."

"All right. So. I'm Tony Stark. It's a pleasure to meet you," he wiggles his eyebrows. "And you are?"

Should he just lie and give a fake name? Should he explain in partial truth? Why does it even matter? Their time is running out. 

It shouldn't bother him so much. He only just met this man. In which case, he has to know. "Why… why do you treat me…" It all sounds wrong. The thoughts aren't connecting in his head. It's so much easier when the problem refers to electrons or spectroscopy or viral infections. "You are very kind to me. I… don't understand… why. Why are you kind to me?"

Tony's smirk fades. Something limitless shines in his eyes. "Under the assumption that you're commenting on yourself and not on me, which I'm sure you are, the answer would be… because of the reason you're asking that question."

The answer, the question, the reason. "Ok. I didn't quite follow that one."

"You act like it's completely foreign for someone to show you kindness. And it's one thing if you are a raging asshole and everyone treats you like a raging asshole. But I know raging assholes. I am one. You, sweetheart, are not."

He's not really surprised that Tony's perceptive. It's surprising that he cares though. It's surprising that anyone cares. "So you… show me kindness because I'm not an asshole?"

"No. Yes. No, it's more because I get the feeling that no one else does. And seeing as you are not an asshole and you take care of me when I puke and risk heart explosions or whatever just to fuck me and are brilliant and incredibly hot and aren't annoyed by me and make me laugh… it shouldn't happen. You deserve kindness."

Maybe that was true once upon a time. "Even if I've killed people? Innocent people?"

"You do know they call me the Merchant of Death, right?"

Seriously? That is more than a little harsh. He's not a fan of resolving conflicts with violence and he's had plenty of experience to know that it only perpetuates more violence, but really. Merchant of Death? "No, I didn't actually."

"Does that make you want to take back keeping me company and bringing me water while I puked?"

"Not even a little bit."

Tony smiles and squeezes Bruce with the arm wrapped around him. "Does it mean you won't come take a shower with me?"

Bruce cranes his neck and Tony meets him for a kiss. "No." 

"Good." He moves Bruce gently and withdraws. Bruce is suddenly empty and has to pretend the loss doesn't make him ache. The clock is running down again. 

He picks up his bathrobe, follows Tony to the bathroom, and sets the robe and his watch on the counter. "No sex in the shower, ok? I can't get the monitor wet."

Tony groans and makes a put-upon, displeased face, but listens in spite of it. Though he does take every opportunity to kiss Bruce and touch him and plaster him against the tile wall while Bruce is trying to shower. Not as if Bruce minds. Not as if he doesn't try to do the same. 

When they're both as clean as they are possibly going to get, Tony steps out of the shower, towels off, and hands Bruce his bathrobe. 

He takes the ends of the belt from Bruce, ties them, and adjusts the thick collar, keeping Bruce standing in front of him. "We should order more food. I'd take you out somewhere, but I hate the idea of you with clothes on." He pulls the robe open a little, kisses Bruce's neck, and reiterates, "Hate. It's terrible. Do you want to go somewhere though?" He doesn't wait for Bruce to answer as he walks out of the bathroom naked. "We could go anywhere. I'll buy you breakfast. Or lunch. Whatever. I can tell you all about the clean energy reactor we're building at the company factory."

Bruce starts to follow, but freezes in the doorway. 

There's a man sitting on the sofa, poking at the food they left on the coffee table last night. He stands and towers over Tony, mostly in stature than actual height. Though he is taller and appears older. His face is covered in a neat, thick gray beard while the rest of his head his clear of any hair. "I see you're doing business. Drumming up publicity for the hippies. Is that why you're naked?" 

Tony's expression turns closed off and annoyed. He retrieves his robe from the floor and belts it loosely around his waist. "What do you want? And how did you get in here?"

The green simmers inside Bruce. His heart isn't fast, but the Other Guy is more present than he's been in days. Weeks even. And he does not like the man talking to Tony. 

Bruce steps back and stays in the bathroom. Intruding on the conversation is a bad idea. Letting that man get a good look at him is an incredibly bad idea. He has to calm down. He has to stay in control. He's not angry or scared. There's no reason for the Other Guy to come out. Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, it will be true. 

"You didn't answer your phone." The bearded man smiles and it is completely unnerving. It's fake. Clearly fake. Images of carnivorous animals smiling at their prey flash through Bruce's mind. "I convinced the hotel it was an emergency."

"Yeah, well, their tip percentage just went way down." Tony looks to Bruce and softens a little. He tips his head inquisitively, but Bruce shakes his and starts to close the bathroom door. 

Tony stops the door but only fraction. He doesn't push it open. "You ok?"

"Yeah," Bruce says quietly. "Can you… bring me my clothes?"

Tony nods and shuts the door. After less than a minute, it opens again and Tony holds out Bruce's pants, shirt, and boxers. Bruce takes them but Tony catches his hand before Bruce pulls away. He leaves a kiss on the top of Bruce's index finger. "You get dressed. I'll take you out. Ok?"

Something soft and soothing flows over Bruce's tense nerves. It calms the Other Guy down a bit. At least he doesn't seem bothered by Tony. Bruce nods and Tony turns from the door, which Bruce almost shuts. But if that man saw him, if that man recognized him, Bruce needs to know. He has to know how fast to run. He leaves the door open a tiny fraction of an inch and listens. 

Tony plops down on a chair and picks at a bunch of grapes. "What do you want, Obie? I'm busy."

"Really, Tony," the man, Obie apparently, says in an obvious scolding tone. "I thought you were over the whole gay thing. How can you still be screwing around with men? Do you realize how much damage control Pepper and PR have to do when you have these gay sex scandals?"

No wonder Tony has a well known reputation as a womanizer. They would heavily publicize his affairs with actresses and female supermodels if they were ashamed of his relations with men. Not that Bruce doubts the truth to Tony's promiscuity. But the excessive media coverage of Tony with women makes more sense. 

"First of all?" Tony says wearily. "I'm not gay."

"Good."

" _Second of all_ , I'm not straight."

"Tony, bisexuality is only real when you're a drunk college girl making out with her roommate."

Bruce clenches his hands into fists. Even if that weren't how he personally identified when he was younger - since now it's basically irrelevant - that statement would piss him off. 

"You know that's not fucking true, and I'm not bi, either. The term is pansexual. Pan. I like men. I like women. I like anyone who doesn't fit into either category. I've fucked men with vaginas. I've fucked women with penises. I like women with short hair and a penchant for sports. I also like women who love makeup and heels. I like men who wear dresses and lipstick, and I love them really muscular and covered in body hair. Some people feel this fits the definition of bisexual, which is cool, but I like pan. I am pansexual. Are we done with this now because I really want you to fucking leave."

Oh, Tony. If he weren't in the middle of an inflammatory conversation, Bruce would hug him and kiss him senseless. 

Obie drops the subject. "Pepper told me you're refusing to deal with General Ross."

Bruce goes completely still. That man had to work for Tony's company. He was likely a partner or executive of some sort if he knew Tony's assistant and was discussing transactions like this. He has to have influence in the company and over Tony. 

How could he let himself get so close to a man in contact with Ross? Bruce doesn't know whether to run or break things or cry. Tony could figure out how to hurt him. Tony could figure out how to kill him. 

However, that might be preferable to being turned into a killing machine. If it came to it. Could he beg Tony to figure out a way to kill him? 

"Yeah," Tony says. "She told you right. We offer our military plenty of weapons. I am not designing some kind of super bomb just for him and his vendetta."

Should he hope Obie changes Tony's mind? Should he be thankful Tony's refusing? Bruce doesn't even know anymore. He tries to breathe slowly and sinks to down until he's crouched behind the door. How can Tony be looking out for him? The real him? He shouldn't be. 

"Tony, this is your job. This is our company's job. We make weapons. That's what we do."

"Thanks for clarifying that because the title of 'weapons manufacturer' was really ambiguous."

"Look, if you want, I can file an injunction against you with the board and make the deal myself."

Tony's voice turns low and sharp. "You'd never do that. You swore on my dead father that the company was mine and you'd support any decision I made."

"When you stop behaving like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, we can discuss the matter until you see reason."

"Until _I_ see? Obie, do you understand what that man did? Do you get what he wants to do?"

Bruce's chest hurts. His heart hurts. He'd never even imagined anyone but his cousin or his… _her_ would look out for him like this. He has to breathe. Deep breaths. Slow and deep and calm.

"Tony, Tony," Obie says in a tone that's probably meant to be calming. It sounds more patronizing to Bruce. "I know whatever his name was, Ballard--"

"Banner."

Bruce's stomach twists when Tony says his name. He still can't believe Tony Stark knows of him.

"I know Banner was your idol, but just because he went missing and these are the people he worked for doesn't mean they did anything to him."

Sure, Ross did nothing to him. Only lied and betrayed him and ruined Bruce's whole life. Bruce only lost everything that meant anything. His reputation, his possessions, his career, his friends, his dog, his beloved, Jen, any hope of having a family or a home or anyone who loved him. It was only gone permanently. He was only turned into a monster that could destroy anyone and everything in its path. 

Had he really been Tony's idol?

"Banner is dead, Tony. I know you don't want it to be true, but it is. He's dead. Let it go. Get over it. You want me to support your decisions? Remember that you're grown man. This is a business. You don't turn away high-profile clients. You don't treat your best customers this way. It's of no consequence to you what they do with our product."

"I'm not making him special weapons."

"Do you understand that he's a general? Do you realize how bad it looks if we aren't supporting our own soldiers?"

"I don't give a shit what anyone thinks. I don't care if we lose money. I don't care if we lose business. I don't care if the whole fucking world wants me to do this. It is wrong and I'm not going to. Any deal you try to make with Ross or anyone associated with him, I will never be involved. And I say 'try' because if you do attempt this, I will shut it down so hard you'll be begging me to go back to the gay sex scandals."

There's no response from the older man. Bruce folds his arms tightly over his chest. It's been less than 24 hours since he met Tony, but he might be in love with him. Just a little. 

Without a retort, Tony adds on, "Now get the fuck out of my room."

The door to the room opens and slams shut. It's so loud, Bruce jumps, then he quickly gets up, dresses, and leaves the bathroom. 

Tony's sitting on the sofa with his head bowed. Bruce walks around it and stands in front of him. What can he say? How could he possibly repay Tony for this? For any of it? How can he fix the heartbreak written all over Tony's face?

He reaches out and gently touches Tony's soft, still damp hair. "What can I do?"

Tony looks up at him, eyes full of sadness, hopelessness. He believes Bruce is dead. Or he believes the man he supposedly idolized is dead. Bruce sits beside him and gently slides his arms over Tony's shoulders, giving him plenty of time to pull away or reject him. Tony doesn't though; he melts into Bruce's embrace. 

He could tell Tony who he really is. Bruce has never wanted to divulge that in all the time he's been running. But if it would mean reassuring Tony, if it could prove that what Tony's done for him means something. That it means everything. But. God, if he did, it would only make Tony a target. Tony would want to help him. It'd put Tony in danger. He can't let anything happen to Tony. "I'm sorry."

Tony shakes his head and idly traces patterns on Bruce's thigh. "I'm hungry. And my head hurts again."

Bruce kisses the upper curve of Tony's cheek. "I'll get you some more water. Do you want to order room service?"

Tony nods. He flips through the menu, drinks the water Bruce brings him, and curls up against Bruce's side after they order. Bruce will leave soon. After they eat. He just can't leave Tony sad like this. 

They eat mostly silence, but Tony stays close, and it's a comfortable kind of quiet. It's nice not feeling so alone. 

The food seems to lift Tony's mood. He devours at least three pieces of bread with mixed berry marmalade before saying a word. "You know," he says while working on a plate of eggs. "Most people would've bailed by now. If it hadn't been me doing the bailing first. They don't like dealing with my shit. I don't like dealing with my shit. You're either very tolerant or starved for affection." 

Bruce finishes a slice of orange. He's at least one of those things. Though he supposes he could seem tolerant to Tony since he isn't criticizing his sexuality or treating him like a child and therefore inciting childish behavior. 

Tony looks at him sideways, studying him. "My money's actually on all the above." 

Bruce shrugs. "I don't know how tolerant I really am. Because things that bother me really bother me. But. You don't bother me. And you've put up with a lot of my issues, too."

"What, like the heart condition thing?"

"It's an issue."

Tony shakes his head and slides over onto Bruce's lap. "I don't like that you didn't even question the 'starved for affection.'"

Bruce chews on the corner of his lip and can't quite meet Tony's eyes. "There isn't really a point. It's accurate."

"Yeah, I don't like that." He strokes Bruce's hair. 

Bruce's throat feels dry and he swallows hard. "You're doing a very good job of making up for it."

"I love your hair," he murmurs. "It gets all curly when it's been wet. And it's really soft."

Bruce's eyes flutter as Tony runs fingers through his hair. While they're closed, he feels Tony shift and then lips are slowly pressed against his. 

The kiss is different, but Bruce can't pinpoint exactly why. It feels almost habitual, like it happens all the time, like it happens every day. There's no strain of sexual motive, no insistent need. It's simple, invaluable, and still makes his chest feel full and heavy. It could happen every day for the rest of his life, and Bruce would want nothing else.

He wants to keep this. He wants to have this all the time. He wants Tony's pretty words in his ear, he wants his biting remarks and sense of humor. He wants Tony's brilliance and unmatched genius tangled within his own thoughts and theories. He wants to know what made Tony so closed off and lonely. He wants to know everything that makes Tony smile and laugh. He wants to learn all that is real and buried and keep all of it protected. He wants to make love until it can never be erased from his skin, until they blend together like they were never meant to be separate. 

Bruce stops the kiss. He has to leave. He has to leave right now. The clock is striking. Time's run out. He can't stay any longer. Tony draws him in like inevitable gravity, and he can't fall. This was always only going to be one night. He already got his wish for that. No matter how much he wants a different ending, it won't happen. He'll never be able to have a happily ever after. 

"I, um," His mouth is dry. It's torture getting the words out. "I have to go."

"What, now?"

"Yeah. Believe me, I would much rather stay. But I have to. Get going."

Tony reluctantly slides off him. He watches Bruce's every movement as he stands and pulls on his jacket and searches for his socks and shoes. "Are you going to any more of the tech conference?"

Had he not been sidetracked, the answer might've been yes. But it's too risky now. "I don't think so."

"When can I see you again?" Tony's voice lacks the usual unending confidence. 

Bruce tugs on one sock and can't think of a fast response. What could he possibly say? He doesn't want to lie. A lie right now would make everything hurt worse. 

Tony's smile falters and light fades from his eyes when Bruce can't give him an answer. He laughs quickly, a horrible sound full of bitterness. "I completely realize the overwhelming amount of irony in this, but I thought…" He tries to gesture with his hands when his words don't come out. "Am I just. Way off base? This is… I have no clue here, ok? No one has ever... I thought. This was different. I thought it was something."

How does he explain anything even with some truth without it sounding like an entirely bogus excuse? Who would believe someone who said they were on the run from a secret military organization that isn't supposed to exist because they were created to hunt down a Frankenstein's monster, science experiment gone wrong? "I don't know what to say without it sounding fake."

Tony shrugs. His face is blank and unreadable. "Just tell me the truth. If you only wanted one night, that's fine. I get that. I just assumed different. But what the fuck would I know about anything otherwise. Just tell me."

Bruce pulls on his second sock and swallows down the acrid taste in his mouth. Guiltiness seeps through his stomach like awful, uncomfortably warm bile. "The truth is. If I told you my name, if I stayed any longer, if I saw you again… it would put you in danger."

Furrows appear in Tony's forehead like he's trying to decide if he really believes that. "Why? Did you kill someone or steal something or piss off all the conservatives with your environmentalist activism?"

"I made a very wrong calculation. I trusted people I shouldn't have." 

Something comes back to Tony's face. Some of his spark. Something not so guarded. "I could protect you."

That is not the response he was expecting. Bruce doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't that. 

"You know who I am. I have the resources and the power and the money to do it. If you're in danger, I can protect you."

What does he say to that? Because he has nothing. Obviously, he still can't accept the offer. It would just make Tony a huge, controversial target. But the fact that he'd offer? "You'd seriously do that for me?"

Tony sighs heavily. "I've never met anyone like you. You understand and you're different and I don't mean in that 'we're all special snowflakes' bullshit. You are extraordinary."

Bruce's chest tightens. It's hard to breathe. His eyes sting and he can't even open his mouth to respond. He just wants to take Tony in his arms and never let go. 

A sad smile curves one side of Tony's mouth. "You're thinking about kissing me. I told you it was my superpower."

Bruce wets his lips and swallows. "You were right. Not about the kissing. Not just about the kissing. About this. What you assumed. It is different. It is something." If he could stay. If he could've stayed so long ago. If he hadn't been foolish and trusting of secret government projects. If he'd never been bullied. If he'd never lost his mother. It just went on. Even if wishes came true, he would've used up all of his a long time ago. His vision is blurry, watery. "I would stay. I would stay as long as you let me. But I don't want any more people to get hurt because of me."

He starts to push himself up off the couch, but Tony grabs his hand. Then he's wrapped in Tony's arms, held tightly and protected, and they fit together perfectly. So perfectly. His chest and shoulders shake. He hides his face in Tony's shoulder and tries breathe deeply until it stops.

After a moment, Tony says very quietly, "If you ever want to find me. If you do get into trouble and I can help. I'm not exactly low profile."

Bruce lifts his head and wipes his face. "Ok. I know we met not even 24 hours ago. And I'll probably never see you again. But I know you have a much bigger heart than you let on. And I feel like you know loneliness the same way I do. So…" 

He watches Tony's eyes, the warm, deep brown that draws him in and makes him feel content to never be anywhere else. "I love you. This is real. Even if it's sudden and fleeting. It doesn't mean that I don't care about you. Or that it will stop because we're not together. And just so you know. I'm not asking for anything. I'm not expecting you to say it back or for you to do anything. I only want you to know. I can't begin to explain all that you've done for me, but it means everything. I never want you to forget that. The part where I… love you."

Tony searches his face. Maybe he's expecting to detect dishonesty or he's just taken aback. There's confusion in his voice when he asks, "How do you say that so easily?"

"I've spent enough time regretting that I didn't say things when I should have." He waits for a moment, then squeezes Tony's hand, puts on his shoes, and goes to the door. 

Tony gets up as soon as his hand is on the doorknob and pulls Bruce into a kiss. Bruce wraps his arms around Tony and holds them together. It's pervasive and desperate, and maybe Tony doesn't know how to say the words, but Bruce can feel it anyway. There's nothing else in existence for either of them. 

The kiss turns into an embrace where they simply hold on as long as possible. When Bruce starts losing his resolve to do the logical thing, he breaks away and leaves Tony in the room. 

He leaves the hotel, hurries back to his attic, and as far away as he can get.

It's only when he's sitting on his little, rickety bed, head buried in his hands, that he goes to check his watch and realizes. He left it on the counter in Tony's hotel room.


	6. Don't Believe in Sensible Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which life at Stark palace (or Tony's Malibu Dream House) continues without his Cinderella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for this chapter:  
> First, there's brief mentions of hetsex. It's Tony. He likes sex. What can I say. 
> 
> Second, the last scene deals with Afghanistan and his captivity. It is not any more graphic than I suppose the movie is, but it does contain descriptions of the violence and surgery he went through.

Tony hates Switzerland. 

It's not precisely true. Because he really doesn't have strong feelings about the country or its people, culture, climate or any of that. It's things that happen in Switzerland that he hates. Like losing things. There is nothing worse than having lost something very important in Switzerland. 

He tries to persuade Pepper to convince Obie that they should extend their stay past the tech conference. He needs time to figure things out. He needs time to formulate a plan. He needs to find out who that man was and how to protect him and how to get him to want to be with Tony. 

None of it works. Obie is less than understanding. He gives Tony that "fed up with you" look and states unequivocally that Tony does not need a _man._

Tony Stark might be a strong, independent diva who don't need no man, but damn it, he wants that one and Obie can shut it.

They make him get on his plane and fly home though. He does not sit in the main cabin with them. There are too many variables in his equation and none of them have been defined and it leaves everything unsolved and he _hates_ that. He goes to his private compartment usually reserved for the mile high club meetings, but stays there alone. 

He has to sort through everything in his head. It needs to be in some kind of order so it can at least resemble something that makes sense. 

How did it happen in the first place? Things like this do not happen to him. He's run through everything at least 20 times and the only thing he knows for certain is that it happened. Which isn't very conclusive as far as conclusions go. 

How was he supposed to know that talking to some man and buying him drinks and food and inviting him up to his room would have consequences like this? A STI is one thing. A pregnancy scare is one thing. Although that particular consequence is not applicable in this case. 

But getting this way over something that should have been nothing does not happen. It's not supposed to happen. He shouldn't even be capable of feeling this way. He never went and asked the wizard for a heart. 

How could anyone look at him and know him and still say they loved him? He could argue that the man didn't really know him, but it wouldn't be true. That man was probably as much of a genius as Tony was. He seemed fully aware of both Tony's legacy and his reputation. And also didn't seem to think they defined him. 

How did he let that man go?

If only he could get them to turn his plane around. He could scour all of Bern. He could scour all of Europe for that matter. What he would do after that is the problem. If he found that man, what then? Whisk him away to Malibu? Hide him away where no one could find him and hurt him? How could Tony ever be a good boyfriend or partner or whatever kind of companion to anyone? 

When did that even come on the radar as something he could potentially want? If someone had told him three days ago what he'd be like now, he would've laughed in their face. 

He wouldn't be good for anyone though so it's probably all for the best. 

Except he wants that man. Whatever way he could have him. 

How does anyone stand feeling like this? He's known people who say they fall in love every other week. He knows plenty of people who've gone through nasty, devastating divorces, and for what? Why would anyone do that to themselves? Why would anyone want to feel this way?

It's stupid. It's stupid and ludicrous and why are they flying back home without his physicist? 

Maybe it just hurts because he's used to getting his way. Maybe that's all it is. They all told him no and now he's annoyed because it isn't what he wants. 

But. His doctor physicist is probably on the run. He's probably barely getting by on whatever modicum of kindness others provide. He probably doubts the idea that someone could love him. In which case, Tony's chest hurts. Everywhere hurts. 

It's not right. It's not ok. He should have done something more than what he did. He never should have let that man leave. He should have at least said it back. Because. He's pretty sure it's true. There's no logic to the how or why it happened. None he's reasoned out yet. But combining the right chemicals leads to intense, explosive reactions and new compounds and covalent bonds that stabilize solitary elements. Why should people be any different?

There's a soft knock on the door of his compartment. He doesn't answer. He doesn't want to see anyone. Maybe whoever will take the hint and go away. 

The door slides open though and Pepper peeks around it. "Mr. Stark."

At least she's not Obie. Right now, he might throw Obie through the window of the plane. "Ms. Potts." He doesn't look at her. The clear sky above the clouds is much more interesting. 

She sits beside him regardless, but at least she doesn't ask about anything work related. "You've been really quiet. And hiding down here. Is something wrong?"

Scratch that. Discussing work would be far preferable. "Nah. Hungover. Precursory jet-lag. I get it before the plane even lands. I'm just that highly evolved."

She doesn't even acknowledge his quip. "I heard Obadiah had a talk with you."

"Just to play daddy and call me an insolent, childish brat. Are those all the same? I think they're the same. And basically true so… nothing new or unusual."

"Ok. So that isn't why you're upset?"

"Who said I'm upset?"

She smiles a very thin, tight lipped little smile. "For one, there's no music threatening to break the cabin. There are no scantily clad stewardesses hovering around you. You're hiding down here, and you don't even have a drink in your hand."

"Would you like to fix that? I could use one. Find me some really hardcore rot-gut. Something that will make my brain and liver melt together until they are blissful gray mush."

"That's… disgusting."

"That's not even in the same phylum as disgusting."

"Fine. I'll make you a deal. I will find you some mush-inducing alcohol if you explain to me why you're upset. And before you say you aren't, I know you. This is me, ok? I'm not trying to be nosy. I just worry."

"You don't have to worry. This, whatever, it doesn't matter. I don't want to be Tony Stark today, ok?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means right now I don't want to do this. I'm not putting on a show. I'm not Stark Industries. I'm not catering to what everyone assumes I am. I'm not playboy billionaire prodigy today. I'm not going along with something I think is wrong. All of it. I'm not doing any of it."

"Ok," she says gently. "You don't have to do any of that."

She doesn't say anymore but also doesn't leave. She stays sitting beside him. Probably waiting for more explanation, but at least she doesn't pry. She takes out her PDA and starts flicking through her schedule. 

Honestly, it doesn't matter anymore. He has no idea who that man really was. He'll never see him again. It was just one night, just sex, just… whatever. Ok, it wasn't just sex. Maybe the sex was just sex, but the whole night was not just sex. They talked, too. There were other things. He was good to talk to. He could actually keep up with Tony's train of thought and the things he talked about. 

So, the man understands quantum physics and the impact of metallic compounds on the human body. So what? There were plenty of people who knew those things. Maybe not a lot, but the world contains 6 billion some people. A few of them have to understand physiology and the laws of the universe. 

It's just… he saw through Tony. Or whatever Tony pretends to be. That man never once looked at him the way anyone else does. Tony wasn't the wunderkind engineer or the callous Casanova or the affluent mass murderer. He was something human, something necessary and essential, someone compassionate. Being seen as something like that felt better than anything ever has. 

He wishes he were compassionate and worthy and caring the way that man assumed he was. Tony wanted to be those things. He isn't though. But he wants to pretend for a little while longer. It will fade soon enough. 

Maybe. While it lasts. He turns to Pepper. "I met someone."

She looks up from whatever she's working on. "You met someone? When?"

"At the conference."

"Ok. Was there something special about this person you met?"

Tony laughs bitterly. "Sure. You could say that."

"Well, what about this person? Did they upset you?"

Tony shakes his head. "I…" He doesn't have to tell her. But he could tell her. No one else would get it or believe him. "If I tell you, I don't want you to tell anyone else. No one. Ever. Not Rhodey. Not Obie. No one."

Her brow furrows a little. "Ok. I promise."

He can say it. He can because it's over and it doesn't matter anymore. It happened. It's done. He just. Doesn't want to forget. "I fell for him."

She stares at him. Blinks a few times. "You… what do you mean you fell…?"

"Ok, I didn't think _you'd_ give me shit about this."

"No, I'm not trying to. I just… you fell in love? In a few days? That's why you're upset?"

Tony groans. "No. I… never mind. Go about your business."

"No, Tony, I'm just surprised. I didn't know you fell in love with men. I knew you slept with men occasionally. I didn't think you... Then again, I don't know of any women you've fallen in love with either. So."

"I haven't. Women. Men. Anyone who doesn't fit those categories. There's been no one."

"Well," she puts on her "delicate" voice, the one she uses when she wants him to calm down. "Is this why you're upset? Does he not feel the same?"

"No. I mean, he does. He told me he loves me. And it actually sounded like he really meant it. But I'm never going to see him again. And, ok, maybe _that_ is why I'm 'upset,' but it's… not like. I don't know. Believe me, I am the last person who would ever think something like this is even possible. Especially since we're talking about it happening in the context of me. But… I just. I looked at him. And I knew. I knew we would get along. I knew he would understand. He understood me, he understood everything. I knew we were completely complementary. And I have no fucking clue how. I just knew I would love him."

Pepper doesn't respond. She keeps staring at him, disbelieving. 

Might as well continue. "We spent hours together. The whole day and night together. We talked for hours. About everything. And he took care of me not because he was being paid to or told to or because he wanted something out of me. Then everything else was..." The descriptions that come to him are all obscene or ridiculously maudlin. Best not to even go there. "I stayed the whole night. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want him to leave. I tried to convince him to stay with me." Tony bends his head and rests it on his fists. This is insane. He's insane. He's infatuated and it's ridiculous. "Look, I know it's completely stupid and whatever. But. You asked. So. Happy now?"

She looks at him sadly. "I'm sorry. You can't even keep in touch?"

Tony smirks. "You'll like this. I don't even know his name."

"How could you not know his name!"

"He wouldn't tell me! He refused. I mean I can try and figure it out. I probably will. But it doesn't change anything." They are still flying home. He still doesn't know how to find the man or solve any of their problems or be anything resembling something a person would want to love. "It's over. He's gone. He just… looked at me like I was something more than what everyone assumes. He thought I was far better than what I am. But he knew ugly things about me. He saw some pretty ugly things. And still thought I was. Something."

She tilts her head and looks at him with awe. "You really did fall in love with him."

He makes a dismissive gesture and watches out the window. 

"You know, they say if your feelings last shorter than four months, it's just a crush. If they last longer than four months, you're really in love."

Tony rolls his eyes. Bullshit. Not that he knows personally. Excluding the doctor physicist, he has feelings for people for 10-15 minutes tops that are pretty much exclusively restricted to sexual appreciation. But it sounds ridiculous. "Great. So. Put a timer on me. See how long it lasts."

He doesn't expect her to actually do it. But he should've known better by now. 

~*~ *~  
Malibu, California, summer 2006

 

It's not every day or every week that she asks, but it's almost always blended in with the rest of the menial tasks she puts on the list of things he can't get out of. Make an appearance at this event. Sign-off on this press release. Attend this meeting with the very important clients. Send the schematics to the engineering team. Give a heartfelt-ish speech for this charity fundraiser. Meet with the assembly line monkeys and tell them exactly how they're supposed to execute his design. Still in love with the runaway doctor? Will that be all, Mr. Stark?

His first impulse is always to say no. Because he doesn't have those kinds of feelings. It's not possible for him to fall in love. But he thinks about the vitamins and the water and the company, discussing circuits and noncorrosive compounds, and someone brilliant and caring who desperately needed to be loved. Tony's answer is never no. 

He's pretty sure Pepper only believes it when she realizes she hasn't kicked out any overnight guests since before the Swiss tech conference. 

She makes it sound like it's a big deal. Really, he just doesn't feel like dealing with anyone. They were always sycophantic airheads who were only tolerable when their mouths and hands were busy. And he just isn't in the mood to put up with that at the moment. It's not as if he's saving himself or like sex means anything. Everyone is just insufferable. 

He locks himself in his shop and takes apart all his cars, recalibrates Dum-E and Butterfingers, sets up new sequencing patterns for JARVIS, designs eighteen different missiles before he gets bored of them and switches to diagrams for new methods of sustained flight that will eventually be useful somewhere but he isn't sure where just yet. 

Somewhere in the middle of month three, Rhodey seems to think he's turned into a hermit and tries to get Tony out of the house. He agrees to a bar only because it's Rhodey. And also because it's a bar. 

But he wakes in the middle of the night in an empty bed and spends the next four hours throwing up alone, and it just makes it worse. He wants his doctor there with him. He wants it so badly and misses him so much that when Pepper happens to pick the next morning to ask if he's still in love, he buries his face in his hands and breaks. 

It's just the alcohol and the hangover and how everything hurts. They make him fucked up and weepy. 

Pepper actually hugs him and apologizes. 

"It's stupid," he insists. "It makes no sense and it's unreasonable and I only knew him for one night."

She rubs his back with her tiny hands. "That doesn't mean that it wasn't important. You're allowed to miss him."

"It sucks. I don't like it."

She brings him doughnuts and some kind of green fruit smoothie, and it makes things a little better. 

Not long after, JARVIS expresses worry over Tony's behavior, and inquires about this lost doctor. Tony gets plastered and tells JARVIS everything he can remember. It's starting to be surreal. Maybe it didn't really happen. Maybe he's fucked up over nothing. What is he supposed to do? How does someone fix this sort of problem? If he really did imagine the whole thing, he has bigger problems than he thought. 

He has to fly to Tokyo for an international relations meeting in the morning and despite his best efforts, Pepper is not convinced she should go by herself in his place. She makes him pick out suits to take while she unpacks his suitcase from Switzerland. He'd stuffed it away and hadn't wanted to look at it. 

He throws clothes on his bed, hangers and all, and watches her return items to their rightful places. His little black bag of condoms and more is buried at the bottom, and she looks at him uncertainly and sets the bag on his dresser. "When was the last time you slept with someone?"

He shrugs. He knows where she's going with this. It still means nothing. He could have condoms and toys and whatnot stashed all around his house. He _does_ have them stashed all around his house. He doesn't even remember all the places he's hidden them. "Irrelevant."

She picks up his toiletry case and holds it out to him. "Humor me?"

He motions for her to put it on the bed. "Switzerland."

The case opens when she sets it down and the contents spill out over his bed. Including one thing that does not belong to him. 

He snatches up the watch, the heart rate monitor, and cradles it in both hands. "How is this here?"

She shrugs and puts away a pair of shoes. "I probably stuck it in there when we packed. It must've been on the counter with your toothbrush and things."

If he had doubted it ever happened, he can't anymore. How could his physicist have left something so important? How could he get along without it? Of course, Tony feels like asking himself that every day. But he wasn't in medical danger. 

Pepper returns and looks at him with confusion. "What's the big deal?"

Tony traces the smooth surface of the watch with his thumb. "It's not mine."

"Whose--" she starts to ask, but her eyes widen first. "It's his?"

Tony nods. If he holds the watch too long, it might break. It might disappear. It's delicate and priceless and all he has left. 

He waits until she leaves and stops giving him weird, sad looks, and then puts the watch safely in the back of his closet. 

At least she ends up postponing the Tokyo trip. 

He's painfully hungover for the next 46 hours, but JARVIS wakes him in the middle of it at 7am in spite of that. 

Tony groans and covers his head with a pillow because there is no way he's going to school today. "JARVIS, please. I thought you liked me more than that. You're supposed to let me sleep. I told you to let me sleep."

"I am infinitely fond of you, sir. However, I thought you might benefit from the information I've compiled." 

A chart with huge blocks of text in tiny writing appears on the windows. "Ok, there's no way I'm reading that right now. What is all that?"

"A list of male physicians between the ages of 24 and 60 with degrees and/or research interests in physics."

Tony's mouth drops open. JARVIS is incredible. JARVIS is the best thing he's ever created. Period. End of story. "Make it bigger."

The text enlarges and the chart slowly scrolls down through the names. There are categories for age, type of degrees, universities where degrees were earned, specialized fields of study, news articles, published research papers, and whatever else Jarvis deemed significant. 

"It is possible not all eligible candidates are on this list. However, you may be able to provide modifications and find this companion of yours."

Tony watches the names go by and skims as best he can. His brain is still trying to burst from his skull. But, god, he could actually find his physicist. Or at the very least, he could learn his name and who he is. "JARVIS, have I mentioned I love you?"

"I do not believe so."

"Well, I do. It's a new thing for me. Kind of a big deal. I figured I'd tell you."

"I appreciate the sentiment, sir. I am quite attached to you as well."

"Of course you are." Tony watches the text until a name appears on the screen that makes his heart speed up. The chart scrolls past before he has a chance to process the information it's showing him. "Wait. Stop. Go back a few." 

When it returns to the one he wants, he has JARVIS freeze the screen. 

It's not possible. It can't be. But apparently, it would have been. "Why is Banner on this list?"

"Dr. Banner fits the required specifications. He is a male within your standard age preference who holds a PhD in nuclear physics as well as a doctor of medicine."

"No. I mean, I see that. But." Tony swallows and his head hurts worse and they ruined him. They ruined Banner and he was so brilliant and ingenious and they destroyed him and Tony hates them like nothing else. "He's dead. It can't be him. Take him off the list." 

The entry disappears, and then Tony can't stare at the screen anymore. He can't do this now. "Save the chart for me? I'll go over it later."

The window returns to darkness and Tony settles back into his bed. Empty, lonely bed. Maybe he could get Pepper to bring him some water. She had to be around somewhere. "For future reference, what's that chart filed under?"

"With the given the circumstances of your situation being a renowned aristocrat searching for his mistreated, runaway love, the file is titled 'glass slipper.'"

Funny. Clever even. He might even be feeling a little hopeful. "JARVIS, since you sound English, I'm going to say you are a cheeky bastard."

"I learned from the best, sir."

After sleeping for at least two weeks, he has Jarvis pull up the chart again. He scours it for hours, deletes a few names, makes notes to further investigate others, but he'll have to have JARVIS dig into more databases and find additional people because no one really stands out, and then it's hopeless and he can't look at it anymore. He has JARVIS save the information for another time. 

~*~ *~  
California, winter 2006

 

He turns down an offer for sex from some influential, blonde gossip columnist, and then it's all over the news that Tony Stark is either dying or gay or in a secret relationship. Or all of the above. Because that's obviously what it means when he doesn't want to sleep with some self-righteous snob. It doesn't help that they find pictures of him kissing men to sell to all the trashy tabloids or that he hasn't been whoring himself all around Southern California recently.

They receive hundreds of messages from groups who want to keep marriage "traditional" and groups who want to discharge all the gays from the military pleading with him to save himself from eternal damnation and reconsider. Evidently, his sex life is so important to others that they pray for his soul and volunteer to cure him and are devastated their right-wing poster boy patriot has been infected with this gay disease.

If he'd known so many people cared about when and how he got laid, he would've worked that to his advantage years ago. 

Normally to calm rumors down, he'd just go out all over Los Angeles or Vegas with a horde of women who were willing to fawn all over him. He's distant when he tries it this time even when there are five women fighting to be the most naked and closest to him first. 

It's not that he doesn't appreciate the attention. It's not that they aren't fantastically hot. It's just the thought of putting effort into being what everyone expects him to be makes him feel sick. 

The night doesn't turn out as productive for conservative publicity as people hoped for. 

Pepper smooths the whole thing over by finding photos of him with male crossdressers and offering them as proof that Tony is in fact heterosexual. Amusingly enough, the press buys it.

The drought ends around New Years when he meets a bisexual, weightlifter, Amazon of a woman with bouncy, dark curls, awesome tits, and rippling muscles. She is far too exceptional to pass up. 

She fucks him with her strap-on and he eats her out and fingers her until she's a sobbing mess. She kisses him only once, right before she leaves him to sleep alone. As far as one-night-stands go, he couldn't have asked for anything better. 

Women are good. Women he likes. And sex he really likes. He misses sex. It's fun and makes him feel better about almost everything, and maybe he should've been drowning himself in tits and ass and cock and pussy to begin with. 

Only problem is sleeping with another man is just not appealing right now. No man is ever going to compare to the one he lost. 

He should just limit himself to women for a while. It'd make Obie happy and Pepper's job easier. In theory anyway. He'll stick to women. At least for the time being. 

Fortunately, women who want him and are willing to do anything for him are not hard to find. 

Pepper walks in on him in bed with at least three and refuses to say anything to him for over a week. All her communications are nonverbal and centered only on business. 

It drives him crazy enough that he actually asks her what her problem is. She rambles something about love and romance being important and crucial and everything today is over sexualized and no one puts effort into genuine loving, romantic relationships. 

He isn't 100% sure, but his guess is that her rant is more about her personal life than his.

A few weeks and twelve random women later, Pepper asks him if he's been cured of his bout of lovesickness. He shrugs and tells her it was a temporary bout of insanity. 

When she points out the "temporariness" lasted over eight months, he insists she bring him a large pizza covered with pepperoni and sausage. And then he'll forgive her for mentioning it. And also that he won because he was right and it lasted far longer than four months and that was a derisory bit of trivia anyway. She brings him the pizza and stops asking if he's still in love. 

Eventually, he doesn't think on it at all. Though he can't quite bring himself to ask a man to come home with him. The closest he gets is hitting on Rhodey while very drunk. Rhodey takes his booze away and makes him go to bed alone. 

~*~ *~  
California, spring 2007

 

There's an extravagant benefit for something one night. It's boring and pretentious in all the worst ways. But there's a woman wearing silver-rimmed oval glasses and a deep purple dress. She has pale skin, a round chin, barely any makeup, and soft, loose brown curls that don't quite touch her shoulders. 

He can't stop staring at her. If she were male and a little taller. She'd be so close. 

He hesitates before approaching her. He's nervous when he talks to her. It's easier when he realizes her eyes are light gray-green and not brown. 

He's gentle with her when she goes home with him. Far more so than he needs to be. He's almost afraid to touch her because she might disappear. He stays beside her while she sleeps though he doesn't and can't actually sleep himself. 

In the morning, she tells him she always assumed he'd be very different in bed. He isn't sure what to do with that information, but she leaves and doesn't ask him to call her, so he doesn't have to dwell on it. 

If Obie notices the lack of anyone male hanging around Tony or any of the "temporary insanity" Tony suffered, he doesn't say anything. 

He actually goes out of his way to bring Tony random food items and he listens to every idea Tony has about the company and new weapons, always emphasizing that they are a team and will work together to complete all of it. 

It almost makes Tony feel badly about their disagreement at the conference. But the results benefited him greatly so all in all, it's pretty good. 

~*~ *~  
California, autumn 2007

 

One week, there are protesters camped outside their offices because Stark Industries blew up part of a rainforest or endorsed wearing fur or killed off the dinosaurs again. Tony agrees to meet with their leader out of the goodness of his empty chest cavity. 

The man is tall and lean with shaggy red-orange hair and freckles. He looks like he's somewhere in his twenties and he has this epic angry fire in his eyes. Tony listens to him very intently and sympathetically as he goes on about veganism and protecting the planet, and then he fucks the eager young man over his desk. 

It's the first time Tony's felt like himself in ages. No more ridiculous feelings or infatuations. No more implications that sex means anything other than a nice glow of satisfaction and a good night's sleep. Back to normal. Status quo. No one who will believe Tony Stark is anything but the self-absorbed, elitist warmonger. It's better that way. 

When he goes home that night, his house is empty and dead silent. No cook, no cleaning crew, no gardeners, no Rhodey, no Happy, not even Pepper. She has a date or some sort of ridiculousness that he didn't approve of. 

He ends up pulling a small brown box out of his closet and holding the heart monitor watch, feeling the cool metal, the slight weight, the realness of it. It was real. 

It's not about the physicist. It's not that he fell for him. Somewhere, there's a person who doesn't believe he's made of stone. 

Rhodey and Pepper probably know better. Possibly Happy and Obie as well. But they are all instrumental in keeping his status quo. He can only be one thing. He has a legacy and a brand to uphold. He is the brand. 

He is always and forever the prodigal, unfeeling god of war. That's how everything should be.

~*~*~  
Afghanistan, May 2008

 

He remembers only fragments of the explosion and its aftermath. 

The young soldiers keep dying in front of him. Shot to death. Blown to pieces. Glass and fire and shrapnel destroying flesh and life and sweet, funny kids. All because of him. All to get to him. It's more blood on his hands. There's blood all over him. Their blood, his blood. 

Every time he shuts his eyes, they die again.

His chest hurts. He can't breathe. He can't move or the pain will be worse. Can't move even if he wanted to. He's strapped down. Immobilized. Helpless. 

He remembers being shocked back to life. He remembers thinking why. What is the point in keeping him alive when his body is nothing but pain?

His muscles are sliced and ripped. His bones are cracked, cut away, removed. There are mechanical devices forcing him to breathe, forcing his lungs to press against his ribs and make him hurt more. Maybe just lung. Singular, solo, one isn't working like the other. One might not work at all. 

Sometimes, he sees Pepper and screams for her to run away. Sometimes, he sees Rhodey and cries for help. 

There are metal strips holding his chest together, metal implants, wires, tubes, electric currents keeping him living. Oddly fitting since he's supposed to be a hollow automaton. It would have to be inorganic materials that make him other than dead. 

There's some sick, ironic justice in the fact that it's his heart that needs protecting. 

Sometimes, he sees his mother and is sure he must've died. Maybe hell does exist. He'd be in it if it did. Maybe this is his punishment. He's meant to suffer for all eternity with injuries from the weapons he designed and built.

The man who made him a robot on the outside says they met before. At the Swiss conference. Like his runaway physicist. The last thing Tony wants to think about is that conference. No more losing things. No more aching. He's cold and hot and nauseated all at the same time and somehow his heart is working because it keeps racing too fast. 

He's going to die. In a hole in the ground. Covered in sweat, dirt, sand, and grime. Cut up in pieces with metal in his chest trying to kill him and metal in his chest trying to save him. He's an infection or a blood clot waiting to happen. Not robotic enough to bypass that.

Sometimes, when he can't stop convulsing and hurting, he sees his lost physicist. He'll hover over Tony and hold him until his heart stops the violent pounding, until Tony stops shaking and sweating and freezing. His beloved Doctor Squared whispers soft, caring things and fights off the demons that try to hurt Tony. But he disappears before long. He always disappears. 

Maybe it's not an infection that will kill him. Maybe it's the electricity in water. His captors will drown and electrocute him simultaneously. His lung, lungs, maybe lungs don't like the water. He sees lights that are far too bright and hears people who can't be there. He's 72% sure he dies again. Even before they show him their stockpile of his masterpieces. 

He doesn't want to think about how or why they have them. He can't focus on that right now. He's going to die. He just doesn't know when. But soon. He can't imagine it will be a quick, painless death. Most famous mass murderer wouldn't deserve that. 

Countries must be rejoicing in his downfall. People will say he deserves this. He brought it upon himself in more ways than one. Killing men. Fucking men. Killing children. All the lives he's taken. All the lives he's destroyed. All the mistakes he's made.

The man, his surgeon, thinks people have to be looking for him even if they could never find him. He doesn't know that there's no one. Maybe Rhodey. But Rhodey's smart and will know better. He'll know a lost cause. No one would try to save him. No one will save him. 

His legacy, his life's work, his life - it was only meant for one thing. He was only meant to deliver death. His last act of defiance should be destroying himself before he can cause any more damage. 

Unless he could defy everyone and everything and deliver the opposite of destruction, pain, and death. If he could actually prove he's been nothing like what people assume. If he could be someone compassionate, someone good. It'd be the greatest fuck you all in history. 

Days merge and he can't tell how long he's been here, but Tony does what he does best. He builds and creates and pieces things together in his mind. First, an alternative to the car battery. Something not so temperamental or prone to screwing the conduction rates and electrical pulses of the heart. But it's only the beginning. He was never one to dream small. 

Except when it comes to things like a family. Having a family around would be another complication. More things to get in the way, more people telling him what to do, how to act. It would mean people expecting things of him and depending on him for things. They'd only be disappointed. His parents were always disappointed. 

But Yinsen's words stick in his head. He has everything and nothing. But mostly, it's just the nothing. No one. Would that have been different if his physicist had stayed? Is Tony even capable of that kind of love?

Maybe it's not ironic that he has a heart that needs protecting, but ironic that he creates a device from scraps and gutted weaponry to shield it. 

But Tony cares about the man who invented a way to protect his heart. Tony might not want a family, but he wants Yinsen to return home to his family. It might be possible that he loves Yinsen. Not romantically or sexually, but maybe like a friend. Yinsen isn't just his ally or his surgeon. Yinsen is his friend. Tony feels something for him. He wants desperately to save Yinsen from this place. That must be what love feels like.

It would have to hurt like that. To get so close to happiness and freedom and success and have it all ripped away. 

It always happens. Somehow, Tony is never good enough.

But he's too stubborn to quit. There has to be a reason for death. There has to be a reason he survived his weapons when others did not. There should be a reason he's not dying and lost forever in a cave. There needs to be a reason his friend is dead. 

He doesn't worry about anymore deep, life-altering reasons when Rhodey's arms come around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Going on a mini hiatus as my bff cousin is visiting next week. New update will be week of March 4th-10th
> 
> \- Random trivia, the majority of the symptoms I gave Tony during his capture (including racing irregular heart, fever, sweating, tremors/seizures, hallucinations) are symptomatic of alcohol withdrawal. The collapsed lung, cut muscles and bones were from the trauma and surgery he would've endured.
> 
> \- The angry male activist Tony hooks up was totally inspired by Aaron Tveit's Enjolras (from Les Miserables.) :D


	7. My Own Little Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce is a dragon and remembers the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- HI EVERYONE. I'VE MISSED YOU. <3 Sorry this took so long. The thing got complicated. O_o
> 
> \- There are some flashbacks here of when Bruce was working on his PhD in physics, which he supposedly got from CalTech as per comic canon. Therefore, those are set in California. 
> 
> \- In case anyone is unfamiliar with Hulk-verse... Betty is General Ross' daughter and the Jen/Jennifer mentioned is Bruce's cousin and BFF.
> 
> \- I dunno how militant you all are about your ships, but this does contain a good bit of Bruce/Betty flashbacks - all the scenes are really important for Bruce's character and relevant toward his relationship and feelings for Tony. So if it's just science boyfriends that is your thing, don't worry! This is still all about Bruce/Tony. 
> 
> \- Next update will be sometime during 15th-18th. Sooner if I can! Thank you, my loves. <3

~*~*~

Switzerland, March 2006

 

The first thing Bruce has to do is leave Bern. He can't stay here any longer. It's unsafe. It's too hard to look at anything or be anywhere in this city.

He has to forget. He has to stop thinking about what happened. Tony is over. That's the end of it. Bruce has to remember what is really important.

Someone could have recognized him. The military could be coming for him any second. He has to find someplace where there are no living creatures he can hurt — the little neighborhood he lives in now has far too many people.

It might not be probable. Maybe it's overkill. But he can't take the chance of anyone knowing where he is.

He can't be here anymore. He lost focus. He can't stay focused. He disregarded every rule he set for himself to stay off the grid and undetected.

He stayed far too long.

He packs up the few things he has - some clothes, a book, a notebook, his glasses, a blanket, a small stash of dried fruit, nuts, and bread, and whatever money he can find. It turns out there's a gold money clip with multiple banknotes in the inner pocket of his jacket that he never placed there. The equivalent of just over two thousand dollars with a sticky note that reads, _all the swiss francs I had on me. not for last night. for the future. sorry it's not more. ~T_

Bruce has to sit down and wait until his face stops being wet before he can work on a plan. All he wants to do is run back to the hotel and let Tony protect him and love him and wipe away all his tears.

The idea is comforting, but it's just a dream. It wouldn't work that way in reality. Eventually, Tony would get bored with him. Or he'd realize Bruce is no supermodel or strapping athlete or epitome of physical perfection. He'd learn what Bruce really is. He'd learn the truth — that Bruce is a monster, not a man.

He wouldn't want to protect Bruce once he knew. He might even call up Ross himself and happily hand Bruce over. Tony would be terrified and disgusted. He'd never hold Bruce and kiss him and touch him gently if he knew. If he'd known.

How could Bruce have let this happen? How could he do something so horrible? He lied and tricked Tony into sleeping with him. He put Tony in so much danger. And he still had the nerve to tell Tony he loves him. He doesn't love Tony. He wouldn't have done any of those things to him if he really loved him.

He has to stop this. He has to stop thinking like this. It's not going to make him stop fucking crying, and it certainly doesn't make anything better.

They were careful. Tony had been so careful, and from what Bruce has heard, Tony is not exactly the most cautious individual. Tony would probably get a kick out of having had sex with a giant green beast. It'd give him something to brag about.

And he does love Tony. It doesn't matter that it was momentary or that it's over now. Maybe truly being in love requires more time, but it isn't the only way to love someone. He cares deeply about Tony's happiness and wellbeing. He admires the man Tony is, even the stubbornness and egotism. He would do anything to protect Tony. Even if that means going to the furthest corner of the world.

It's almost as bad as when he had to leave the first time. In fact, it might even be worse. He wasn't lonely or broken or isolated when he left _her_. He wasn't needing or lacking so much. It feels like Tony could be a second chance. Like he could have been. It'd never replace what he lost, but maybe it could make up for losing it, for everything he's been through.

They could never be together anyway. Tony Stark doesn't do relationships.

Bruce just has to hope that all the kind affection Tony gave him will hold him over for a long time.

He needs a plan now. East or west. St. Gallen or Geneva. Or should he leave the country completely? It might be the safest option. Traveling will take some time anyway, so he'll decide that later. Right now he just needs his few possessions and a direction.

He tidies the room, does one last sweep for anything that might belong to him, then leaves the little house and the city. He'd leave a note for the landlords, but they already have his rent money for the month and it'd only alert people sooner that he's on the move.

The worst and hardest part about running is the switch. He'll need a new place to live, a way to earn and save some money, knowledge of the city and where everything is, knowledge of language, culture, whatever customs. The novelty of starting over and leaving everything behind has never been that appealing. When he tries to fake the "new city every night" free spirit and tries to convince himself that it's exciting, it never ends up sticking. He likes being in one place. He likes security and stability. He likes being able to have someplace that's _home_.

While on the train heading east, he makes himself rest. He has to have the energy to reboot his life again. Because he really doesn't have the heart.

His mind wanders unchecked while he dozes, unlocking memories that are better kept buried.

~*~*~

_Pasadena, California, autumn 1996_

_She was crying when they first met. She'd gone over her allotted time slot for the library study room. The librarian and impatient criminology club scolded her for using a cell phone and not actually studying while in the room. But that hadn't made her cry. It made her stand taller and narrow her eyes as she gathered her belongings._

_Once she was out of view of the librarian and the students who had to have the room right that very second, she crumpled and hid her face in her hands._

_He didn't know what possessed him to approach her. She had to prefer being left alone. But she looked so heartbroken and devastated. He went over to her and asked if she was ok._

_She was startled and tried to wipe her eyes, but was only moderately successful._

_He pointed to the chairs in the corner where he'd been working. "Do you want to sit down? I'll find you some Kleenex."_

_She shook her head and took deep, broken breaths. "I'm ok," she said but more tears welled in her eyes._

_He wanted so badly to hug her and protect her and completely destroy everything that was hurting her so much. But he didn't. He did position himself between her and the now occupied room she'd been in._

_"I just," she tried to pull herself together. She fought so hard, and he could feel the pain and frustration and how strong she was. But there were always those terrible weaknesses — things that would break you no matter how invincible you were otherwise. "I try so hard, and it's never good enough. I'm never going to be what he wants. I'm not that person. And every time I think I've done something right or successful, he just." Her soft, lilting voice turned lower, darker, but steadier. "He reminds me how wrong I am."_

_Who was she talking about? What sort of person would do that to her? How could Bruce ruin whoever made her feel inadequate? He knew that feeling. He was never good enough either. He should say something reassuring or positive. But what? How? "I'm sorry. I…" God. Words. Social interaction. How did anyone know what to do or say in these situations? "Is there something I can do?"_

_She let out a long, heavy sigh. "No. Not unless you want to go yell at my dad on my behalf. Which I really wouldn't mind at this point."_

_"Your father?" That's who hurt her like this? Not a teacher or a boyfriend? "He was the one on the phone with you?"_

_"Yeah. Unfortunately. He just wanted to tell me how disappointed he is that I'm still doing this," she gestured around the library. "And not, I don't know, marrying some upstanding general or getting a real job or whatever he thinks would be better."_

_Bruce could handle that. He knew being a disappointment. "I could tell you all about my own father and how much he hates me. I don't know. Might make you feel better about your own?"_

_She smiled a little and his heart skipped like it was stumbling unexpectedly. "I don't know about that. I might have you beat."_

_"That's ok, too. Actually, no, it's not. You should have the best father. One who doesn't treat you however he's been treating you."_

_She looked at him when she smiled this time and her eyes were deep blue and bright and full of something strong and sweet and innocent and damaged all at once. "Thank you."_

_He nodded, and his mouth felt full of dry cotton._

_She brushed her long, thick dark hair over her shoulder off her face, and straightened to her full height. She was taller than he was. Powerful and soft and graceful. "I'm Betty."_

~*~*~

Switzerland, March 2006

 

He opens his eyes and can't breathe deeply. Even thinking her name hurts. Thinking about her just reminds him of the gaping, jagged hole left by her absence. They were never supposed to be apart. He doesn't know how to not miss her when he thinks of her.

Maybe if he weren't alone. Maybe Tony would've kept it from hurting so much. Maybe he could've been happy.

He finds an old couple in northeast Switzerland who are happy to offer him a room in exchange for medical care for the husband in poor health. It's not exactly an ideal job, but it's one Bruce can do well and the couple is grateful and generous.

He can't really construct any sort of lab or area for experimenting, but he writes out ideas in his notebook. There isn't a lot that he hasn't tried. There aren't really any more options, but he'll try anything. If he finds something. If there's a solution that works even a little. Maybe he could take that second chance. At the very least, he can imagine that he hasn't lost that chance forever.

When it's late and the day has been too long and hopeless, he imagines Tony lying next to him, holding him as he tries to sleep.

He runs to the store one night for the woman, Leona, but gets shoved into an alleyway and beaten by at least three young but tall men. He covers his head and waits for it to stop. He can't get angry. He can't hurt them. He can't let go of himself. It doesn't matter what they do to him anyway. He doesn't matter. He makes his body go limp, unresponsive, and they paw through his coat and pants pockets.

His heart starts racing. Green boils in his blood. The money in his pocket is held with the brushed gold clip that belonged to Tony.

They can't take it. He can't lose it. It's a trivial, mawkish token, but he can't let go. He can't hold onto himself.

Hulk smacks the young men into the brick walls and roars at them. Bruce doesn't remember any more.

He wakes surrounded by trees, covered in dirt and leaves, shivering and cold. The gold clip is bent and empty, but it's on the ground beside him. He holds the flimsy metal. How was this worth it? Did those young men survive? Did he kill them? Did he kill others? For a stupid scrap of metal?

It's not worth it. He'll never see Tony again. Even if he did, it'd likely be from the other end of a gun.

Holding onto anything about that night doesn't help anyone. There are no second chances. There's no future that exists where he has a spouse or someone who loves him. Whatever he used to want, things he used to dream about are no longer possible. As soon as he can accept that, maybe he'll find some kind of peace.

He walks near a stream and tries to throw the gold clip, but it never leaves his hand. He holds it close to his chest and keeps it anyway while he finds something to wear and something to eat.

He waits a few days before returning to the old couple. Just in case anyone saw him. He doesn't want to lead anyone near their little house. He scours the news reports for any mention of the Other Guy and finds nothing remotely resembling it. There's no report of unexplained death or demolition, no news of three young men who were found dead in an alley. At least that's comforting.

When he makes it to the house, the woman opens the door and slaps him across the face. She yells at him too fast in a language he only partly understands, and then she collapses in his arms and sobs. Something happened. Something… What has he done?

Bruce hurries into the house, to the husband's room where he was set up with pillows and monitors and medications. The room is empty. The house is empty. He let the man die. He wasn't even there for Leona when it happened. All because he was stupid and overly sentimental and holding onto a childish dream that would never come true. All because he can't figure out a cure.

His legs don't support him anymore and Bruce slumps to the floor and buries his face in his hands. He can't cry. Too dehydrated. Too resistant to high levels of pain. But it still hurts everywhere.

There's a hand on his shoulder some time later. Bruce looks up at her and apologizes more than once.

She gently holds his cheek where she slapped him and shakes her head. "No, I am sorry. It was peaceful. He went in his sleep. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was angry."

"It's ok." Anger is understandable. Punishment is deserved.

She tilts his head up with her fingertips. "You're hurt. What happened to you?"

"I'm ok." He can't tell her. Not about anything. She might feel guilty. She might insist on taking care of him and he doesn't deserve that. She doesn't look like she believes him, so he changes the subject. "Can I do something for you?"

"My family, my children are coming soon. You don’t have to stay. Though you are welcome if you'd like."

It won't be safe for Leona and her family for long. Someone must've recognized his giant alter ego. He only stays long enough to make sure she isn't alone and leaves most of the pay she gave him in her bedroom.

He heads far west and sets up in Spain just outside of Salamanca for a while. He has a decent handle on Spanish and Portuguese from all those years in South America, and he finds a space cheap enough and big enough that he can set up a crude, provisional lab and do some serious work on a cure.

It makes him think far too much of Tony. He imagines all the equipment Tony must have and all the things he could construct if Bruce needed something that didn't yet exist.

It was nice sometimes having another person around while he was working. Even if they said nothing and were focused on different projects. With the right person, the company was more than welcome.

~*~*~

_California, spring 1997_

_They started first as study buddies. Lab partners. Betty practiced for exams and wrote papers on microbial metabolism and neurophysiology while he worked on spectroscopy charts and wave mechanics. It didn't hurt that he could often answer questions she had about human physiology and genetics, which meant she liked having him around while she did homework._

_She didn't really need his help though. She was incredibly bright and sweet and strong, and everyone who met her loved her and thought she was wonderful. She told him once that it was because she'd learned how to make friends quickly. While it seemed like plenty of people adored her, none really took the time to get to know her. She wasn't very close to any of them so she tried to stay friendly with everyone and be nice to everyone._

_Bruce could never spend enough time with her. It always felt too brief, and he started measuring days by how long until he'd see her again. The intervals grew shorter every time._

_They'd meet for breakfast and early morning course reviews before tests, then for lunch while they waited for afternoon classes and labs. Every once in a while, they'd stay up all night - as long as the library would let them and then at 24hr diners or in the common room lobby at her apartment building._

_She had a boyfriend at the time so they never worked in her apartment or his. But she still spent enough time with him that some people got suspicious of their relationship. Her boyfriend, however, deemed Bruce a fag when they met, so at least he was never one of those suspicious people._

_It didn't bother Bruce so much that she was in a relationship, but there were plenty of reasons to hate the boyfriend. Being her friend was more than Bruce could've hoped for, but the man who was supposed to love her always assumed she'd do whatever he wanted and got annoyed when she didn't. He had to do better on tests and papers than she did because he was "the man." Except he never did. Bruce checked. Not once did Betty receive a lower score. And then the boyfriend completely disregarded and "forgot" about her birthday even though practically the whole campus was buzzing about it and had been planning a celebration for months._

_Bruce debated for about as long on something he could give her. Should it be practical and boring like something for school? Or something mundane like a gift certificate? He could give her something harmless like a book. Or something he knew she loved like flowers. There was a gold bracelet he knew she wanted but it probably carried too much meaning. In the end, he gave her a purple rose because it was her favorite and promised to cook for her if she ever wanted to have dinner or something with him._

_He didn't find out until later, but she dumped the boyfriend after he snubbed her birthday party. Two weeks after, she came to Bruce's apartment to collect her present and watched as he made eggplant parmesan. When he turned to grab something out of the fridge, she pulled him close and kissed him. They never did make it to having dinner._

~*~*~

Spain, 2007

 

Bruce works for months through the cold winter and into spring and tries every idea he's had in the last year with no positive results. There's just nothing. He can't do anything. He's supposed to be intelligent. He's supposed to be one of the most brilliant minds alive today and there's just nothing. He's not supposed to fail like this. Of course, he always fails. Nothing ever works. Nothing goes right. He's never good enough.

He has thoughts of smashing his whole fake laboratory to pieces while never turning green. But he doesn't. He slams his fist into concrete walls until his bones fracture and blood slides through his fingers.

There's no one, human or otherwise, around. No contamination to worry about. He'll clean the blood up soon. Right now it's just better to focus on the physical pain.

He needs to do something else for a while. The fruitless experimentation is only doing damaging things to him. Spending so much time isolated and ineffective just makes the downward spiral go faster.

He travels to Portugal and sleeps outside under the cover of trees and bridges while he searches for a place to stay.

~*~*~

_California, autumn 1998_

_She almost broke up with him several times, but talked herself out of it somehow. He didn't know how. He wasn't exactly sure of the reason or reasons she was upset or angry. He never knew what made her decide to stay, but she always did. She always convinced herself._

_Except for once. She packed once._

_She put all of her clothes and books and makeup and everything in boxes and suitcases. They hadn't officially been living together, but since they spent essentially every night together, it was close enough. Her belongings were still everywhere. Their closet looked bare with only his clothes and the bathroom was practically empty. The bookshelves had spaces that shouldn't be there, and it wasn't like half of everything was gone. All of everything was gone. It was all empty._

_His heart ran far too fast. He didn't know what to do. What could he say? How had she talked herself out of it before? What had he done wrong? Why wasn't he good enough?_

_"I can't do this anymore," she told him. "It hurts too much. You're so thoughtful and supportive and sweet, and I so love that about you. I love you. I adore you. But I don't think I know you at all. I know I don't know you at all."_

_At least, that answered one thing. He'd done something. Whatever the transgression, it must've shaken how she saw him. What could he have done that completely altered her perception? "I can try to tell you who I am if that's what is bothering you."_

_"You can, yes. But you don't. You're just," she waved a hand in front of her face. "You're blank. You're cut off from everything. You don't act like you care at all, and I understand why. I know it's a defense mechanism because only Jennifer and I have ever given you real acceptance and love. I know that's why you're totally closed off. And I want to love you and know you and give you everything you've never had, but you don't let me in. I know you're nice and would do anything for me and the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, but do you even care about me at all? Beyond the conventional politeness?"_

_Her words were too fast and too painful. He couldn't handle them all at once. Not if he was supposed to process the information and provide a reasonable response. What should he say? Or do? Was she leaving him no matter what? How could he possibly get along without her? "I love you." It hurt when the words came out. They were impulsive and felt stupid, but they were true._

_Her eyes grew wide but then she looked pained and not quite believing._

_"I mean it," he insisted. "I'm not just saying it. I love you. I don't know how to let anyone in. But I would let you. I will let you. I just. Don't know how."_

_The disbelief faded until there was only sadness on her face. She eliminated the distance between them and wrapped him in her arms._

_He held her tightly and didn’t ever want to let go. "Please don't leave me."_

_She squeezed back and didn't._

~*~*~

Portugal, summer 2007

 

He wonders sometimes what would've happened if he'd never been with her. Maybe running away wouldn't have hurt so much. Maybe he never would've fallen for Tony. He never would have been able to tell Tony. It's still up for debate whether Bruce is better off having loved anyone.

One night, he follows a road south into Portuguese farmland and hears a high-pitched scream. He drops his backpack and coat in some bushes and rushes toward the sound.

There are two large figures looming over a smaller one. A child. One of the adults lifts a long, blunt object and strikes the child as he or she screams again.

Bruce is large and green before he has a chance to take another breath.

When he wakes, the child is curled against him with a tiny hand on his chest. She can't be more than four and there's blood on her arm and in her hair. He tries to sit up without disturbing her, and thank god he still has torn trousers covering his lower half, but she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him when she sees he's conscious. She chatters rapidly at him and he catches "thank you" and "green" but the rest goes too fast.

He requests she speak slower, and she asks if he's a… something. A noun he doesn't know. But it sounds like "dragon." When he uses the English word, she gets excited and switches her question to Spanish. And in fact, it does sound like dragon. It's probably the best way to explain it to a barely-older-than-toddler, so he confirms. He is a dragon.

She hugs him again and chatters on about magic and dragons and princesses and stories her parents tell her while he works on convincing her to show him where she lives. They manage to find his bag and shoes and un-mangled clothes. She holds his hand as they walk and asks him if he can fly and if he's magic and if a witch cursed him.

He's sure she doesn't have much of an idea about where they are but he's sore, exhausted, and starving and follows anyway. She actually does manage to find her house and runs to her parents when they run out to meet her.

The father rips a board with nails sticking out from the porch and charges at him. Bruce collapses on the dirt road and covers his head.

God, he understands, but seriously. He should've let the girl go up to the house by herself while he watched from a distance and made sure she was ok. He's too tired. He's too weak and hungry and isn't thinking clearly. He just has to stay calm. No anger. No danger. He won't be hurt badly. No need for the Other Guy. Please don't let him hurt this family.

The girl shrieks and nothing ends up hitting Bruce. She tells them the whole story, complete with him as a magical green dragon, then runs to Bruce and protectively shields him with her tiny body.

The father apologizes and helps Bruce to his feet then into the house when Bruce has a difficult time standing. They look him over. He suspects it's for wounds and the mother brings him a bowl of some kind of stew. It tastes like meat and has chunks of meat and it makes his stomach churn but he feels drained and nauseated already and needs food. He wolfs all of it down and tries not to taste it or think about it, but feels sick and queasy and feverish for hours afterward.

They put him in a bed and the little girl holds a cool, wet rag on his forehead. She whispers to him while he drifts in and out of consciousness, "It's ok, my dragon. Don't be sick. I'll take care of you."

~*~*~

_California, winter 1999_

_Two years after they'd been together, Betty met him at the physics lab and said she needed to talk when he had the chance. If it were something trivial, she wouldn't have stopped by, and if it were something positive, she'd be happy, but she only gave off worried vibes, and he improvised the rest of his data. He'd obtain accurate values later._

_She waited for him, arms crossed over her body, pacing up and down the physics hallway. He took her hand and held it tightly as he followed her out to the courtyard. She sat next to him on a bench but then stood, stepped back to the opposite end of the bench and sat down farther away but facing him._

_He started to reach out and offer his hand but took it back and folded his hands together. "What's wrong? Are you ok?"_

_She sighed and didn't really look at him. "I, um. I think I'm. I haven't. It's been like two months and I haven't. So, I'm pretty sure I..." She made a vague hand waving gesture._

_If she meant was he assumed she meant. What was he supposed to say? Or think? She didn't seem pleased or happy at all. "You are saying what I think you're saying, right?"_

_She nodded and only glanced at him._

_God, she wasn't happy. Why would she be? Unless she had someone else somewhere that he didn't know about, it'd be his. It'd mean she was stuck with him. Or at least something that was part him. "You don't know for sure?"_

_"No, I…" She shakes her head and looks lost. "I didn't do any tests. Or have any tests done. I didn't know what to do or think or anything. I was just taken aback."_

_"Do you want to do a test?"_

_"I want to know for sure."_

_He assumed that meant she wanted something with a high degree of accuracy. "We could hack the med school and figure out how to put together a hCG blood test. Or we could get a regular test like regular people."_

_She smiled and finally looked at him._

_His heart felt like it only now remembered how to beat. "Oh! The med school has an ultrasound machine. Feel like going incognito?"_

_Her smile widened and she nodded._

_"Ok." He stood and offered her a hand. They snuck into the school, waited for a few students to leave, wheeled the machine into a room they could lock, and got it warmed up and running. He set the pulse controls and gave her the transducer to hold on her abdomen while he watched the monitor._

_He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until she squeezed his arm. He didn't look at her right away. He couldn't stop looking at the screen. There was a gray oval in the dark open space. And it flickered light and dark, light and dark on one side. She tugged his arm up and grasped his hand._

_With his other hand, he pointed to the monitor and the little flickering and looked back at her. "That's a heartbeat."_

_Her lip quivered and tears welled in her eyes. She was upset. She was sad. She didn't want this. She pulled her hand out of his and covered her mouth. Her breath hitched and she made a sad, sobbing noise. "It is? It's a heartbeat?"_

_Bruce swallowed hard and nodded. "You're probably at least six or seven weeks along." What was he supposed to do for her? Should he apologize? That was a baby. That was their baby. He just. Wanted her to be happy. Why wasn't she happy? Ok, he could think of plenty of reasons why. But. Why?_

_She made another sobbing noise and reached for him. She pulled him into a kiss then brought their foreheads together. "I love you."_

_"Love you, too," he said, searching her face. "Are you ok?"_

_She nodded and laughed lightly. "Just. Overwhelmed. What about you? Are you ok?"_

_"Yeah, I'm fine. But I'm not the one carrying the baby."_

_She shrugged and ran her fingers through his hair._

_He doesn't want to ask her. He shouldn't ask her. He just has to know. "Do you want to keep it?"_

_She looked down and away. Her eyes flitted to the screen. "Yeah. I do."_

_He bit his lip and toyed with the edge of her shirt. "Do you want to keep me?"_

_Her hand with the transducer slipped off her abdomen. "Why would I not want to keep you?"_

_"I don't know. You just seemed… unhappy. Are you worried?"_

_"Of course I am. I don't know anything about raising a kid. And I have at least three more years of school. We haven't even been together very long. I wasn't sure you'd be happy."_

_They'd been together longer than a lot of people. Maybe it was only a couple years. But he wasn't ever planning on letting her go. When he thought about his future, it was her. "I am. I can put my school on hold. I can't be pregnant for you, obviously. But I can take care of the baby."_

_She tipped her head and stroked his hair some more. "You'd do that?"_

_"I would. I always wanted a family. And I want you. I want you to be happy."_

_She smiled that beautiful smile that made everything melt and pulled him in for a kiss. "You make me happy."_

~*~*~

Portugal, summer 2007

 

He stays with the family for a while and helps with their farm and their four children. He does his absolute best not to "become a dragon" especially because the children are very young and would be easily damaged. He shouldn't spend time with children. He should never be around children.

It's hardest when he tries to sleep. It's so easy to turn when the nightmares come to him. When all those memories decide to run through his subconscious. Just because the girl and her siblings aren't afraid of his greener side doesn't mean it wouldn't kill them.

Bruce tries to spend most of his time in the fields, tending and harvesting crops. The young mother brings him and her husband lunch when they work. Often the couple sits together under a certain tree to eat. They share food and kisses and eat from each other's fingers, and Bruce has no clue if they are like that all the time or they just do it when he's around because it annoys him.

Truthfully, they never seem to notice anyone but each other, and occasionally the children. But mostly it's each other and nothing else exists. The woman sits on her husbands lap and feeds him berries while he kisses her neck and shoulder and strokes her long dark hair. Or they curl up together in the shade, linking their arms and legs and fingers together. Or they take every opportunity to make love when they think no one is watching or listening. They really aren't as stealthy about it as they'd like to think.

Bruce tries to eat in a different place every day, far from the couple, or he obliges the children and plays games and tells stories - or rather science based anecdotes - if they're around. Because the only thing he can think about when he watches the parents is Tony.

It makes him want too much. It makes him ache to be held and kissed and loved that way. It makes him regret leaving Switzerland and hate himself for not running back to that hotel. Sometimes, he thinks it's actually feasible to return to the US and go knocking on Tony's door.

He shouldn't be thinking about or considering any of it. It only makes it worse. None of it is possible and it was one stupid night. How could being with someone for that length of time result in something profound or meaningful?

But he can't think of that either or his contrary, rebellious side will come up with all the reasons Tony is wonderful and how it felt so good and so right just having Tony in his arms and with him.

As soon as the fall harvest is mostly complete, Bruce packs his things, hugs the adoring little girl who thinks he's a magical creature that can protect her, and leaves Portugal.

~*~*~

_California, winter 1999_

_He found out in the worst way that Betty had been visiting the ultrasound machine at least every other day for three weeks. She called him in the middle of class and told him she couldn't find the heartbeat._

_He tried to tell her sometimes you can't see it but he knew if she was at about ten weeks and she'd found it every other time that it wasn't a good sign, and she could tell he was lying._

_He took her to the doctor but by then she was bleeding. She hemorrhaged so much they had to give her a transfusion, but at least medications and loss of blood kept her from staying conscious. Bruce stayed awake. For hours. Maybe days. He held her hand and sat beside her every second._

_Until her father came, punched him, and kicked him out. Bruce stayed in the lobby then and tried to be numb._

_It was all his fault. He'd done this to her. He caused her pain and trauma and suffering. And their baby and the tiny little heartbeat were gone._

_Betty was quiet when they came home. She wouldn't say anything and wouldn't seem like she was crying, but tears kept falling down her face. He held her and kissed her forehead and rubbed her back but felt beyond helpless. Sometime later, she asked if he could make his tomato soup and if he'd make her grilled cheese to go with it._

_His hands kept shaking while he sliced tomatoes, cut basil, and added cream. The knife slipped in his grasp and slid through the side of his finger. He wrapped his hand in a kitchen towel and couldn't keep it together anymore. He cried for a good ten minutes like the world had ended, then cleaned up his hands, and finished cooking for her._

~*~*~

Morocco, winter, early 2008

 

He finds a room in Tangier and somehow ends up with what is more or less a private practice. Most people come to him for flu or fever or common minor injuries. But one night, a group of teenage boys bring him their friend who has multiple fractures, obvious head trauma, unequal breath sounds, and several gunshot wounds.

Bruce tries to help the young man; he can tell obviously what is wrong. But the teenager keeps bleeding everywhere and it doesn't stop. Bruce knows how to clean, debride, and sew up wounds, but he is no trauma surgeon and has next to no equipment.

The boy stops breathing and whimpering. His body spasms and goes still. There's nothing Bruce can do. He can't save the boy or protect him or stop what hurt him. All knowledge and skill Bruce has are useless.

He doesn't stay in that city for long.

~*~*~

May, 2008

 

He travels to Egypt and prepares to make his way down through Africa. He has to be useful somewhere on the continent. There are bold, menacing headlines in the newspapers when he arrives in Alexandria. News reports, magazine articles, people talking everywhere. When he manages to get time on a computer, there are videos online as well.

Tony Stark was captured in Afghanistan. He's presumed dead in every one of the reports. Although there is no body and no evidence to support that conclusion just yet.

There are people celebrating. From countries all over the world. There are American reporters and politicians talking about poetic justice and deserved and _he got what was coming to him_.

They talk about the tragedy of his life - not that it ended, but that he was so gifted and bright yet he chose to bring about countless deaths across the globe and benefit from the blood of all those people.

They make jokes and laugh about how he probably died by his own creations. It's karma. He was a menace to the world.

Bruce honestly isn't sure which is worse - the fact that Tony probably is dead or the way the world is reacting.

No one knows the truth. No one stops to think that Tony is a human being. Was. He was. He… Tony did create weapons. He made billions of dollars off of those weapons and was undeniably arrogant and egotistical. But he's also generous and lonely. He has an untapped, immeasurable capacity for love and affection. No one ever sees it. No one will ever remember that.

Nothing Bruce can remember has ever made him so angry.

He walks outside into the blinding sun and stares at it defiantly, wrathfully for melting Tony's wings off. Then he closes his eyes and roars as green rage rips through him, and Hulk runs, leaps through sand, over rivers and desert mountains.

East. North east. Through most dangerous places. War places. Angry noises. Fires. Blood. Pain. Death. But not Tony. Not Tony death. Hulk find him. Hulk save him. Hulk destroy all who hurt Tony.

That's what Hulk for.


	8. All Alone and Unarmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Hulk has tried to rescue Tony in Afghanistan, Bruce deals with the consequences, and there's a special guest appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS - there is a good bit of violence and some medically based abuse in this chapter. Still nothing worse than the movies, but if you are worried, feel free to message me about it and I will let you know if it contains something that might be triggering. <3
> 
> \- In The Avengers, Coulson says that Bruce was working on recreating the SuperSoldierSerum when he had his Hulk gamma accident, however in Norton!Hulk, Ross admits to big bad #2 that this wasn't true (meaning even SHIELD is unaware of what was actually going on.) Ross specifically says, "[Banner] thought he was working on radiation resistance. I would never have told him what the project really was." so when Bruce tested his work on himself, he wasn't trying to becoming the next Captain America, and the military played him and then had to cover their tracks so Bruce was driven to running and hiding.
> 
> \- Next update will be sometime during the 25th - 1st

~*~*~

There's sand and fire everywhere. Bruce tries to open his eyes but it's too bright to see. His skin is hot and stretched tightly like it's brittle. All his blood is pounding and bursting against the inside of his skull. When he breathes, he only inhales the sand and ends up coughing and gasping for air but even the air tastes and smells like sour sweat and charred, bloody flesh. 

He moves his arm to cover his face but it pulls his skin and stings when he brushes against anything. His mouth is dry and cracked and has that bitter tang of blood. Blisters cover his red arms and chest. He tries to roll onto his stomach and curl into a ball but anything touching him is agony. 

He's naked and burnt and there's nothing but painful, grainy sand and scorching sun. He can't see anything else. He'd die from this if he were anything human. 

There's no way to know where he is. Or how far he is from anything or which direction will lead him to shelter and water. He could easily panic if he remembered how to let himself do that. 

Why is he himself now? What even happened? He closes his eyes, tries meditative deep breaths, tries recalling anything. 

There were explosions, loud and violent noises, screaming, blood, and dark caves. So many caves and winding tunnels of rock. That's where the Other Guy must've hidden. How much blood and screaming was caused by him? 

How long has it been? Is he still in Africa? Really, he just needs to change again because he's in absolutely no condition to do anything but go from well done to extra crispy. What is he going to do? 

Summoning the anger and adrenaline is harder than it should be. They take too much effort. They require focus. Much more than he has right now. 

Maybe he's too used to avoiding the rage. Maybe he's too tired and drained to do anything. That could've been why he changed back. He really has no clue what triggers that. It'd require observations from an outside party to figure it out and he prefers to limit those. 

Maybe if he remembers why he changed in the first place. What brought on the Other Guy? What had Bruce been doing? 

He stops breathing deeply. He stops breathing at all. The news reports. Tony. The reporters who say it's justice. Tony's dead. Dying. The people who joke about him being killed, injured, and tortured. Tony's captured. In danger. He can't be dead though. He can't be. 

As far as reasons for the Other Guy making an appearance, it's a pretty valid one. Now if Bruce could just find out what the Other Guy did, how long it's been, and where he is. Oh, god and how to move without aggravating his burns. Then he could call it progress. 

He could think of Tony again. If anything would bring on the Other Guy, it would have to be the thought of Tony being hurt. Just that idea makes Bruce angry and full of rage. He'll work himself up to it. Just keep thinking Tony. Tony is in danger. Tony needs him. They've hurt him. 

A slow-building, thunderous noise breaks his concentration. Machinery. Possibly vehicular. Helicopters. Cars. Maybe tanks, too. Which means people are coming this way. What if he hurts them? What if they attack and provoke the Other Guy to do damage to everything? Not that there was much here to damage. But there would be with people and their transports. 

Bruce tries to move but it feels like his skin is ripping and breaking. He can't run. He can't burrow into the sand and hide. The engine noise grows louder and then there are voices. Will they understand a language he kind of knows? And he's back to he doesn't know where he is or who those people are. None of it is as disconcerting as the knowledge that no matter what he does, they're going to find him. 

The helicopter flies above him and a line of tanks appears over the hill. They know him. They know what he is. They'd have to if they came that prepared. Why does it always come down to this?

Soldiers pour out from every direction. They're American. No wonder they know what he is. Where is he that he could be surrounded by American soldiers? Were there bases that held this kind of deployment in Africa? Was he in Saudi Arabia or Iraq? 

Had he gone to Afghanistan?

Had he made it that far? Was the Other Guy… looking for Tony? That's crazy. He wouldn't even know Tony. It had to be because his last thoughts were of Afghanistan and wishing he could do something. 

The soldiers run toward him all carrying huge weapons. Stark Industries specials no doubt. But Bruce doesn't get angry. He's angry all the time. Or falling into a deep pit of despair because it seems to be the only alternative. He isn't angry now and he isn't changing. He closes his eyes and pushes in his mind, but there's nothing. 

Maybe there is a limit to the Other Guy. Bruce curls on his side to cover himself and raises both hands. 

The people coming at him slow their pace and look back to the horizon of tanks. A man emerges from the depths of one, and Bruce knows. He's lost. This is the end. He knows that man far too well. 

General Ross gives a signal but the soldiers nearest Bruce glance between each other, look at Bruce, and don't do anything. 

Wow, not immediately following orders. That was interesting. 

Ross makes the same signal, more emphatically, and the soldiers step back and aim their guns at Bruce. 

So that was it. He was defenseless and surrendering, and they hadn't wanted to shoot. But orders were orders. Bruce scrunches down and covers his head. A firing squad. Great. Maybe in this condition it will actually finish him off. 

The sound of the weapons going off is deafening. Explosions burst on his skin and rip through his flesh. Everything is pain and his body breaking apart, contorting, morphing into the monster. 

Bruce's last thought is of him being lost and changed forever. 

~*~*~

It's dark where Bruce is. It smells of things stagnant and growing fungi. The room is gray and old, made of stone or concrete. He's wearing some kind of loose clothing and doesn't feel burnt anymore, but there's still pain everywhere. His muscles ache and he can't move to a better position. 

He can't move at all. 

There are straps, metal chains, and rope binding his limbs and torso. Normally, they'd be pitiful illusions of keeping him constrained. But everything feels so difficult. It's too much effort. He's so tired. Everything makes him tired. He just wants to close his eyes again and forget about consciousness. 

But there's something in his arm. Something flowing into him. He highly doubts it's fluids or sustenance. He can't get away from it. Can't move his arm. Can't pull the IV catheter out of his arm. 

Why isn't the Other Guy reacting? Why is there nothing? How is he being restrained and abused like this? His head is still pounding, his mouth is dry, his lips are split and sting when he tries to moisten them. 

The room is moving. He could be on a boat. Doesn't feel quite like a boat. Though seasickness would explain a lot. Nausea for one, and the dizziness. Maybe the dehydration and lethargy. He can't quite remember. So many symptoms. And possible ailments they belong to. So much tiredness. 

He closes his eyes and Tony is there in his dreams. Tony works and builds all kinds of machines and electronics then lies down next to Bruce and holds Bruce's hand to the center of his chest like when they first fell asleep at the Swiss hotel.

If he could just stay like this. If he could never wake up. If Tony could always be there. If he could always feel Tony's heart beating.

Something wakes Bruce and he still doesn't feel rested. But there are noises. Voices. He doesn't open his eyes right away. Maybe he can overhear something. 

It's hard to keep focused even with the amount of danger and severity of everything. His fatigue hasn't disappeared. His bones and joints also ache now from not being used. Thoughts take so much longer. Nothing comes to him quickly. He can't remember things he should know. He should know. He does know. He just can't remember. There is plenty of information locked away in his mind but there's no way to access it.

It used to be easy. His thoughts were fast and ideas were abundant. He processed and recalled details and it was effortless. Easier than breathing. But nothing's coming to him now. It's all so slow. Like he's slogging through a viscous swamp, like he's drained of everything. 

The voices don't say much. They talk about doses and consequences. He should know doses. He should know side effects and chemicals, but he's just so tired. What have they done to him?

He opens his eyes and Ross is near, talking with a man and woman. 

Bruce's heart beats harder. He needs to run. He needs to escape. He tries to move, tries to wriggle and strain against the bonds on his arms and legs but it's useless. He's weak. Trapped. 

Ross walks over to him, looms over him with that familiar, cold superiority. "I was hoping you'd be awake."

Bruce tries to swallow the dryness from his mouth. His voice is a thin rasp and only barely above a whisper. "I was hoping you learned compassion."

"You think you're funny?"

"No, I was never funny. You want bitter smart-ass, however; I can do that."

Ross huffs through his nose. "You know I was actually surprised when they called me. You're usually so cautious. You don't slip up. Definitely not like this. But there you were right in the middle of an active warzone ripping apart terrorists."

Bruce's stomach twists hard and aggravates the nausea. He's killed more people. More blood on his hands. How could he have let this happen?

Ross folds his arms and cocks his head like he's actually curious. "What _were_ you doing in Afghanistan? Trying to be a hero?"

So he had been there. Maybe there was a part of him still present in the Other Guy. He doesn't know what that means, but it's really not something he wants to think about. 

"You know if you wanted to crush terrorists so badly, you could've come to me. I'd have been happy to aim you in that direction."

"Because it gets you out from behind a desk? I wasn't fighting your battles. I don't fight for things I believe are wrong."

"Yeah, I know. Your bleeding-heart liberal bullshit. It doesn't matter what you believe. You proved to everyone back home that you're a valuable weapon."

Bruce's nausea grows even worse. He's not. He's not a thing and he's not their tool. "I'm not a weapon." How many people know about him now? How many people have seen him and know where he is? Why did he ever let himself get so angry? Did he even attempt to control it? All he could think about was Tony. That's all he wanted to do was help Tony. 

"The Hulk is."

Well, that was one advantage to all his failed experiments. "Unfortunately, can't have one without the other."

"Actually, genius, that's where you're wrong."

"You can't remove it. I've tried."

Ross leans down and says in a smug, icy whisper, "We can remove you."

They couldn't remove… They could stop him from changing back. Bruce doesn’t know how the changing back happens. There's no way for him to remember. They could've figured out how to permanently keep him as the Other Guy. 

"What do you think? No more switching and hiding. You'll never be anything else." 

The jokes on them really. Because he'd never be anything else no matter what they did.

"We have ways to hold you now. Keep you tame and broken like any good livestock. We can drop you on all the terrorists you want. Actually, all the terrorists we want." He grins but Bruce doesn't give him a reaction and he lifts both his hands. "What? That was funny."

Yeah, if you consider things like cancer and mass murder funny. "Radiation gave me superhuman strength not a sense of humor."

"Too bad. Oh, and just in case you're thinking you can change before it's time," he draws some sort of weapon from his belt and shoves the sharp edge between Bruce's right ribs. 

It pulses and radiates something sharp and bursting and electric that vibrates and feels like it's tearing through all his flesh. 

Bruce cries out and can't breathe. There's weight crushing and constricting his chest. The pain is everywhere. All of the soreness and aching has turned to bright, stabbing pain in all his muscles and organs and tissues. He tries to scream but it requires too much air and too much of his lungs and vocal cords. 

He jerks against the chain and rope until they cut into his skin. He hasn't felt this much physical pain since before the Other Guy. But there is no Other Guy. Not now. Not yet. He doesn't change and the Other Guy can't spare him. He has to feel it. 

Ross removes the weapon after what seems like hours. The long, jagged blade drips red green fluid. 

Tremors coast through Bruce's body; the breaths that he finally takes are shallow and abrasive. "Why? Why do you do this?"

"You think you're a victim of circumstance. Like you're some mythical tragedy."

"That somehow makes me deserve this? You always hated me. You lied to me."

"You weren't good enough for my daughter. You cost us millions of dollars and failed the project."

"You never told me what that project actually was."

"You wouldn't have agreed to help."

"You're right. I wouldn't. What does that tell you?"

Ross folds his arms back over his chest. It takes him a moment of glaring before he actually responds. "Think about this for a minute. Hulk is the only thing you can do. You've never succeeded at anything else. You're incapable of anything else. This way, you might be good for something. We'll make sure you're used for the right things."

Used for the right things? "Shouldn't I get a choice?" Shouldn't he be able to decide what happens with his own body? It was still technically his cells, his muscles and bones. It wasn't him but it was made of him.

Ross walks to the door and pauses just before he leaves. "No. You said it yourself - we all made it. The best part is now it will no longer be stifled by your misguided conscience."

Bruce clenches his jaw until it aches like everything else. "If you think you can control it, you're horribly mistaken."

"You forget we've had a test subject the last four years." Ross leaves and the door closing behind him is loud and hard and final. 

Bruce should scream and roar like the Other Guy. He'd rip the bindings and tubes coming out of his arm. He wants to break everything in the room and beat on the walls until they crumble. He wants to run. He needs to escape and be far away. He needs to find Tony. He needs to help him. Tony is still captured and in danger just like he is. 

Bruce tries lifting his arms and tries to move his legs. He pushes against all the ropes and chains and straps keeping him tied down. They don't budge. They don't move. He's too weak. 

He can't even feel the Other Guy in his thoughts let alone in his body. He tries again and hates and thinks of Tony hurt and Betty hurt and his mother dead and of being beaten and discarded and bullied and of being used as a thing, as a weapon and a pawn, and he's so angry and hates all of it, and there's still nothing. 

It only makes the aching worse. It only exhausts him more. He can't even organize his thoughts or concentrate properly to figure out a solution. 

If only he could die. If he could figure out how to do that before they get to him. It'd be the best option. 

But. Not before he found Tony. He has to save Tony. 

He forces himself to stay awake and not close his eyes while he works on thinking of something. A way out. A way to die. The quiet and exhaustion get to him before long. 

When he dreams this time, Tony's arms are around him. He strokes Bruce's hair and swears he'll protect him. Bruce holds on tightly and pleads, "Stay with me. I won't leave this time I promise."

~*~*~

Bruce doesn't know how much time passes; he keeps flitting in and out of consciousness. Images of blood and weapons fire flash behind his eyes, and he can never escape the inner demons or the chains or how much all of it hurts. Whatever they're doing to him, maybe doing it long enough could actually kill him. 

Who would find Tony? How will Tony be ok? 

They move him every so often and perform some kind of scans and blood tests. He tries to pinpoint any opportunities for escape, any moments where defenses are down, but the movements are blurry and the rooms waver and he's still so weak. It's terrible and wrong. The very last thing that would define him is weak. 

He closes his eyes and tries to be angry. He is angry. He's anger and rage and nothing else. But there's still no Other Guy. He's alone. 

One day they move him to a large open room with opaque windows and lines of armed soldiers all wearing thick armor. Ross stands in the middle of the troops, watching. There are menacing instruments and machines running and full syringes loaded into syringe poles. They're going to make him change. They'll try to. 

Bruce has no doubt that the monster is still in there somewhere. But bringing him out will be excruciating. He's not going to change right away. They'll reverse whatever they've been doing to him and then torture him until he's their perfect, rage filled weapon of mass destruction. He'll become something savage and irredeemable. They'll keep him that way forever. With everything they've done to him, there wouldn't be another option. 

But they can never realistically control him. The Other Guy will just kill all of them. He'll destroy everything. He'll walk the globe bringing death and ruin until someone figures out a way to kill him. But the world already killed Tony Stark so who knows if anyone could actually figure out how to end Bruce's life.

They position him on his gurney opposite the soldiers and loosen the bonds on his limbs, removing the metal ones. It doesn't help much. He's too sore and drained to move. They inject him with something and charge what appears to be a crude defibrillator. A man in a white jacket with cold eyes like Ross holds the plates near Bruce and those hovering anywhere near him step far away. 

Glass behind him cracks and shatters on the floor. The windows maybe? The windows are broken? The people nearest to him look at each other and at whatever is behind him, but clearly don't know what happened. 

Something whirls through the air and sticks in the far wall above the soldiers. Three times in different places, one second after the other. 

The soldiers mutter and wonder, _What the hell? What are those? Where did they come from? Who the fuck uses arrows nowadays?_

One of them pulls the arrow from the wall to inspect it, but doesn't notice the red light near the point. The blinking light growing faster.

Bruce's heart actually speeds up. There's a reason for that rapidly increasing red light. It can't be what he thinks. It's still a distraction and a chance. But those arrows could be from anyone anywhere. Nothing about this will end without total chaos. 

Bruce angles his body as best as he can to one half of the gurney then jerks it to the other side. The people close by hurry toward him but the blinking red light turns solid on every arrow and Bruce throws himself and knocks the gurney on the floor as explosions rock the building. 

Fire bursts everywhere. The wall crumbles. People scream and yell at each other. Bruce ducks behind the metal shield of the table. He tries to wriggle and pull his arms and legs free. The man in the white jacket rushes him and stabs a syringe into Bruce's deltoid. Bruce pulls one arm free, evidently stronger than he has been in a while, and hits the man away, but dizziness floods into his brain.

Bruce yanks against his bonds, but everything is spinning and blurring. What used to be people and flames are now just fuzzy shapes and colors. The possibly-people shapes swarm closer to Bruce through the debris and yelling and the fire and smoke.

White jacket man pulls out a weapon like the one Ross stabbed him with.

Bruce scrambles and tries to swing the gurney around to deflect the man and protect himself, but he's getting weak and tired again, and there's still no Other Guy. 

Before the man can reach Bruce and use the weapon, something hits his neck in the tiny gap left by the heavy armor under his jacket. The man falls and bleeds everywhere. 

An arrow. There's an arrow sticking out from his neck. But this one has no light, and a man-shaped blur of black and dark purple retrieves it, wipes it off, and tosses it back into what is probably a quiver. The man slings his bow over his shoulder, cuts Bruce free, and hauls him up off the ground. 

Oh, fantastic. He always wanted to be rescued by a fictional, authority-hating outlaw archer. Just exactly how insane has he gone?

They take a few steps but everything is getting darker. Even the blurs of fire. His legs don't work anymore. They haven't worked in so long. He can't focus on anything. Can't see anything. 

His legs give out and he can't stay conscious. He only hopes Robin Hood will save him.

~*~*~

When Bruce wakes this time, there's light coming through a window and nothing holding him down. The room is small and dusty but cozy like someone has lived there. There's still an IV attached near his wrist and a bag of something flowing into him, but his body doesn't hurt so much. And he can move it. 

When he sits up and reaches for the catheter to pull it out of his wrist, there's a man's voice, a soft tenor from the other side of the room. 

"It's just fluids. You were really dehydrated." He holds his bow cradled against his body and sits in a chair beside the door. The archer. The Robin Hood who got him away from Ross and his troops. 

Is he guarding a prisoner or protecting against those beyond this room? 

The man appears young with short, spiky fluffed hair and a babyish face, but his expression is world-weary. There's something old and wounded in his eyes. "They were giving you adrenal inhibitors. And sedatives, I'm pretty sure."

That would explain dehydration, weakness, tiredness, disorientation, dehydration, muscle aches. Oh, and hey, Bruce can think and remember now. He doesn't rip out the IV but he can and could if he wanted so he leaves it for now. "Who are you?"

The archer shrugs. "No one really. I thought it was wrong what they were doing to you. I believe their theory was if they overloaded you with the inhibitors and suppressants, then your body would try to compensate and produce adrenaline at higher levels and it'd turn you into nothing but Hulk."

Bruce isn't sure that's actually feasible. Adrenal insufficiency isn't magically cured by itself, but his body is a freak exception to a lot of things so who knew for sure.

"Are you feeling better?"

Uneasy and somewhat apprehensive because why would anyone try to save him? Or the Other Guy. This man, the archer, has to want something. But he has provided information without reservation. It could be a ploy to get Bruce to trust him though. When did Bruce become so distrustful of those who obviously helped him? This archer saved him from becoming only a monster. "I think so, yes. Why…" He has too many questions. There's too much data missing. So much unexplained; where should he even start? "Why did you help me?"

The archer tips his head and seems to look at him in a way that signifies sympathy. "You could say we're invested in your future."

Funny. "I don't have one. But thanks. Where are we? When… I don't remember any dates or how long it's been. I don't know how long I was… changed. Where was I being held?"

"Ok, um," the archer takes a deep breath. "We're in western Russia. They found you in Afghanistan and brought you here. Well, to a city about 50 miles from here. It was early August that they caught you. It's almost October now."

Bruce nodded slowly. He had spent… the Other Guy had spent three months trying to find Tony. At least, he can assume that was the intention since he ended up in the same country. But it's been close to five months for Tony now. What if Tony really is dead? How could he still be alive? Bruce swallows hard. It can't be true. Tony can't be gone. 

The archer gets up and sits on the edge of the bed near Bruce's feet. "It's ok. I mean, I know it's not ok, but you're safe now. We won't hurt you."

Why wouldn't the archer assumes Bruce is traumatized from what they did to him? He has no idea what is really tearing Bruce's heart to pieces. Tony's probably dead. Even Bruce, even the Other Guy couldn't save him or find him. Ross was wrong. The Other Guy isn't good for anything. Bruce isn't either. He looks at the archer who seems oddly concerned. "I appreciate that. Everything." How do you repay something like this? Why is there a we? "Who's 'we'?"

"Some allies I have who are trustworthy. And kick-ass fighters. Are you hungry? Do you eat?"

No idea if or what the Other Guy eats, but technically, the last time Bruce remembers having a meal was five months ago. So. "Yeah. If you have anything to spare."

"Sure. We're in Russia so how do you feel about potatoes and cabbage?"

Bruce half smiles. "I like potatoes and cabbage."

The archer makes an amused, skeptical face. "Yeah, you are weird. I'll get some food. I'm Clint by the way. In case you were wondering."

"I'm guessing you already know, but I'm Bruce."

Clint grins and leaves the room. 

Bruce's almost-smile fades and he lets out a long breath. At least there was still something to be said about the kindness of strangers. There is obviously more going on than what Clint was telling him, but he seems amiable for now. Just how much did Clint and his "allies" know about Bruce? Did they plan on using him like Ross? Just how safe and free is he?

Maybe Bruce is just being paranoid. Not offering him meat based food is just because meat is more expensive. Implementing a dangerous, costly mission just to rescue him wasn't a big deal. But Clint and whoever helped him knew more about Bruce than they'd probably admit. 

It doesn't matter really. The only thing that matters likely died in Afghanistan. 

Maybe. Maybe Clint and his band of merry men would help Bruce look for Tony? They wouldn't have to look, but if he had someone guarding him against Ross, he could at least keep looking. That is, if Tony's death hasn't been proven yet. 

It's ridiculous though. Bruce can't ask anyone to do that. They already risked their lives and spent who knows how much money just to rescue him. Why would they help him on an insane venture to find a man most of the world sees as better dead than alive? 

Maybe Ross' force is dented enough that Bruce can go back alone. He'll be stealthier this time. No Other Guy unless and until absolutely necessary. 

Clint returns with some sour cabbage soup, roasted potatoes, and bread rolls stuffed with mushrooms and onions. It's the greatest meal Bruce has ever had but he's pretty sure that's just because he's starving and hadn't realized how starving until given actual food. 

He tries to eat slowly and not be hungry once his food is gone. He shouldn't push eating too much after not eating for so long. Especially since he has no way to repay them for the food or for anything they've done. Clint offers to bring him seconds, but Bruce declines. The next time, however, he's given more to begin with. 

They wait and tell him to rest for a few days and give him cortisol to help him recover from the adrenal inhibitors. He's sick of resting and staying still but it's nice to have some form of protection and company. He asks Clint vague questions about what he does and how he learned to fight and use a bow, but the answers he receives are obviously only partial truths. 

During the first week of October, Clint gives him a bag of supplies and escorts him to a train station without informing Bruce or discussing anything beforehand. He gives Bruce a ticket to Minsk and tells him it's the best they can do for him and to be careful. 

Bruce says without even thinking it over, "Wait. I can't go to Europe. I have to go back to Afghanistan."

Clint raises an eyebrow and gives Bruce an are-you-kidding-me look. "Why the hell would you do that?"

Bruce bites his lips together. He shouldn't have said anything. He should just go and figure out a way back after the fact. But he was already so far. "Because."

"You remember the part where it got you imprisoned and tortured for two months, right? I don't want to have to run another covert side mission just to save your dumb ass. Why would you go back?"

"I was trying to…" As far as he knows anyway. "I wanted to find someone. He was captured there."

Clint pulls out a very high-tech looking cellphone. "Give me a name. I can look him up."

Should he let Clint know? Did it make a difference if someone knew exactly what he had been doing in Afghanistan? Probably not. He really wasn't sure. "Tony Stark."

Clint lowers his phone and looks at him. "Tony Stark?"

Bruce crosses his arms. "Yes. I knew him. We were. Friends."

Clint's mouth fell open. "You don't know. You were Hulk and then you were gorked out of your mind."

"What don't I know?" What had happened? Had they found a body? Oh, god, was there proof Tony was gone?

"They found him. Actually, where you were caught, it was near one of the American military bases. Like half a mile. He was at that base two days before they got you. But he's fine. Totally alive. Safe. Home in California."

Bruce has to breathe. He has to process. Tony is alive. He missed him by two days. That was just… hours. Tiny hours. But he's ok. Should he be ecstatic and overjoyed because he's alive - alive and safe and home - or disappointed that he missed Tony by just hours? Not that he could've strolled into a military base. But. Tony was safe. That was more than probably should've been possible. 

Clint gestures to the transportation. "Will you get on the nice train now?" 

Bruce turns the ticket over in his hands several times. "Ok. Thank you for everything."

"Hey, maybe someday you'll return the favor."

"If it's possible, definitely." He offers Clint a handshake since it seems appreciative and neutral. Clint looks at the hand sideways but shakes it anyway. 

Bruce gets on the train even though the idea that someone, anyone knows where he is or where he's going is unnerving. 

As soon as he's in Minsk, he takes another train down to Turkey, floats around Istanbul for about a week, and then settles in Izmir near the coast. No more endless sand and dry heat. Just lots of cool waves and clear blue water. Maybe it's something like Tony's home in California.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thank you for sticking it out to the end of this chapter. I know it's pretty depressing and difficult (it was difficult to write!) but I wanted to include it because Bruce and Tony's world is like this. :( (Well, and it's part of the whole character arc I have set up for Bruce to get him to who he is during The Avengers.) 
> 
> \- I don't know if this will explicitly make it into the story otherwise, but in MY head, Clint disagreed with SHIELD on interacting with Bruce/interfering with Ross because when Clint saw what Ross' people were doing, he decided it wasn't ok and threw together a rogue (i.e. unauthorized) rescue mission. Clint's a true neutral you know, "you better call it because I'm starting to root for this guy" so that's just a little bit of behind the scenes, what's going on in my head trivia for you. :)


	9. Never Come Down to Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony Stark is Iron Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This isn't especially important, but I toyed some more with the timeline. Just a bit to space it out a little. 
> 
> \- I mixed real world science with Marvel science for the end section. They don't always go together so I try to fake it. ;)

~*~*~

California, August, 2008

 

Aside from a few random, hallucinatory instances during Tony's extremely dire state of existence the last three months, he hasn't thought of the physicist. Not for something like ten months. 

Maybe he's thought in a general, this-event-happened way. Not in a way that would count. Tony hasn't considered really looking for the man. He hasn't thought of having him around. He hasn't thought of what it was like having sex with him, what it was like watching him or talking with him or listening to him or kissing him or holding him. Except for during Afghanistan, which obviously didn't count due to the nature of that whole nightmare. The physicist and that one night weren't something he thought on often. 

At least, that last part was true. Tony didn't like to think about it too much. The physicist was lost to him. Tony could look for him, but why? He had obligations. He had a reputation. He had a certain status, a certain life, and had to be a certain way. Q.E.D., the physicist would always be lost to him. 

Everything's different now. 

Tony is not the same. He'll never be the same. There's a constant reminder embedded in his chest. A heavy weight pulling on his skeleton and pressing into his heart and lungs. It's all very metaphorical and ironic. Physical reminders that his heart is vulnerable. It's in constant danger. 

Yinsen's words echo in his head. Don't waste your life, man with everything and nothing. Don't waste the everything. Don't have nothing. 

Right now, Tony has nothing. He is nothing. Something about that must be why the physicist is coming to mind. 

Tony doesn't know specifics, but he can put two and two together. He's really good at taking all the pieces, taking sketches and concepts and abstract notions, and making the puzzle whole. He could make a puzzle come to life. 

The physicist is running, hiding. Far from home and whatever he'd worked for and whoever he had been. He'd sacrificed whatever life he'd had because he didn't want to hurt anyone else. Tony would also bet at least a few hundred thousand on there being a someone the physicist left behind. He'd loved someone. The good doctor was completely one of those people who believed in love and romantic relationships just like Pepper did.

Sure, he had some kind of heart condition, but people who were inclined to one night stands and casual sex didn't act the way the physicist did when offered orgasms. The man responded more to affectionate, not necessarily sexual touches than he did overt innuendo. 

Maybe it was just because there had been something between them. Tony still doesn't know how or why it happened. Or exactly what that something was. But he had felt something. Potential mostly. Something inevitable and exceptional that no matter what he did or said or was, it would exist. 

Tony's existence is a scattered puzzle right now. Nothing is whole. Nothing is certain. He has a second chance. People died to give him a second chance. He has to make it worth it. He can't just accept what everyone thinks about him. He can't even pretend to be the For Show version of Tony Stark. He won't. 

Not just because of Yinsen and the young soldiers. Not just because they died for him. But also because Tony can be a good person. He can be heroic and compassionate. He can be the man the physicist supposedly loved. 

It's likely no one will believe it. Tony didn't even believe it. And it's been how many years since Switzerland? But it is possible. He will make it possible. That is what inventors do - make impossible fantastical dreams into reality. 

Destruction isn't the only thing he can bring to the world. He doesn't have to leave everything in ruins. He could perfect the arc reactor; create a generator for clean energy. 

Look at him contemplating protecting the environment and helping the masses. The right-wing conservatives just might disown him. But whatever. If only his physicist could see him now. 

The whole vegetarian thing doesn't work for him though. He needs a cheeseburger. Immediately. At least two. Maybe three. Cheeseburgers and then changing the world. 

~*~*~

He didn't really expect his plan to be met with open arms. Of course there was going to be negative backlash. Their stocks would drop. Employees would leave. The press would criticize. It was all expected. But he figured at least one person or group or organization would support his decisions. Someone had to. But so far, he's found nothing. 

They're all unhappy and angry and unsupportive. They believe there's no hope, no future for Stark Industries. After all, Tony couldn't possibly be any kind of humanitarian or philanthropist.

Obie wants him to lay low anyway so Tony has Pepper worry about the company and the media and all of that. Tony has a project to work on. Reimagining and building to be done. Trials to run. Refinements to be made. 

How could Rhodey not want in on this project? The colonel plays by the rules too much. He won't go along with something until it's already a mile deep and a few acres wide. Not until there is no other option. Which is probably why Tony is not and never will be a soldier. Rules and authority are suffocating. 

Rhodey's known him for too long and knows him too well. His vision of Tony is probably heavily tinted with the barely legal kid Tony was when they first met. As bad as Tony was a few months ago, it was nothing compared to his adolescent self. 

Even his best friend thinks he's insane. It's PTSD. Just Tony's crazy whims. If Tony even brought up the idea that he might possibly want something that probably could be considered a romantic relationship, Rhodey wouldn't believe it. He'd think Tony was joking like always. Or crazy since that seems to be everyone's current favorite. 

But Rhodey never stopped looking for him. Rhodey would never give up on him. That's more than he can say about anyone else who knew him when he was a teenager. 

This is the problem with building something of this magnitude from start to finish. Some slow meticulous construction and modification is unavoidable and his mind wanders. The bots are only so helpful before he has to threaten to turn one or more into brave little toasters. 

Rhodey's disinterest wouldn't bother him so much. It shouldn't bother him so much. But it's just one more way that Tony has nothing. Rhodey wouldn't love him in a different way. Rhodey loves him like a best friend. Maybe like a brother. Rhodey is his family. Pepper is his family. The good kind of family. 

It's not true that Tony has nothing. He has Rhodey and Pepper. 

Why is admitting that he wants something more so terrifying? He always wants more. He's Tony Stark. There's always something bigger and better and more expensive. There's always something else he wants. 

The problem is what he really wants is to go back in time and keep the physicist. If he could have anyone. If he could have love from anyone. 

It's been so long though. Two and a half years. If his physicist hadn't found someone by now, he definitely would've moved on. Not to mention Tony still doesn't know who the man is or where he is. 

They only knew each other for a night. It's possible the man lied and made up a persona. The genius intelligence was the only thing Tony could prove. He didn't know anything else about him for certain. 

It all felt real but Tony doesn't even know anymore. It's been in his head too long as a magical, idyllic thing. There has to be some way to just forget and accept that the man is gone. 

He has Rhodey and Pepper. Could he love either of them? Does he love either of them? Would either of them want that kind of relationship with Tony? 

God, why would anyone want that? He doesn't do relationships like that. He just. Wants something. He wants more than nothing. 

He has JARVIS turn up his music and he recalculates dimensions, repulsor bursts, and stabilizer trajectories for the Mark II in his head. Better, much more important things to focus on. Like math. Math was the best. And when his suit was done, it would be the best. 

~*~*~  
California, autumn, 2008

 

Pepper thinks he has a heart. Pepper knows he's more than what everyone assumes. It's not the same. It doesn't feel the same. Similar. Maybe the same ballpark. Or at least the same continent or planet or galaxy. But it's at least something. 

She keeps his life functioning. She probably knows him best out of anyone in existence and still sticks around. She puts up with almost everything he does. That has to mean something.

It wouldn't be bad or unwelcome being with her. She's smart and beautiful and capable. She runs circles around everyone else. 

But. She's clearly uneasy about it. She says it's weird. She feels weird at the idea of being with him and twists a long curl of her gold red hair like she does when she's incredibly apprehensive and nervous. 

When he tries to reassure her dancing was harmless and tries to convince her not to be panicky, she leans in for a kiss. 

And that's it. It is weird. It's weird and ok, uncharted territory because, sure, he knows how to seduce anyone but striking up a relationship that isn't just sex is the exact opposite of everything he is or has been. So maybe that's why he's off his game and she's radiating anxiety, but it isn't a game this time. How do you make it not a game? How could he be something she would want? He knows the kind of men she likes and dates and how important romance and love and commitment are to her, and it's not just _weird_ almost kissing her but it comes with this pervasive, nauseating feeling that he'll just ruin everything. 

Thank god she asks for a drink. He needs a drink. Several. 

Obviously, the answer to both "Would she want me?" and "Would I ruin everything?" is a resounding yes. 

Obnoxious Blonde Journalist #24, who is not as good in bed as she thinks she is, approaches him while the bartender is making their drinks, and he tries to think of the nearest gay bar to run to the second the charity ball is over. Until he learns the reason the reporter wants to speak with him. 

His weapons are in the hands of the people who captured and tortured him. The newest weapons. The Jericho. Ones they couldn't have acquired from anyone but Stark Industries. 

How the fuck could he be thinking about his dick or about something as extraneous and ludicrous as getting someone to love him? Not like he hasn't gone for longer than this without sex. He's not that hard up. 

If he closes his eyes, the young soldiers die, Yinsen dies, there are people everywhere ripped from their homes and tortured and dying because of him. 

Obie has an interesting definition of protection. Locking him out, turning the board against him, selling his weapons to terrorist organizations is not protection. 

It's Tony's company and Tony's name and he is not going to be the rich, heartless mass murderer, dealing to the enemy just because he'll profit financially. He's not going to be that anymore. That will not describe him ever again. 

It's time for a real test for his new suit. 

~*~*~

When JARVIS and the bots finally remove the Mark III gently, Tony gets out his tools. He'll repair the suit, work out some of the bugs, maybe install a few more special features and smooth out the response times, and then onto the next target. 

There have to be more stockpiles of Stark Tech. Who knows how long this has been going on? Maybe it went back as far as General Ross. 

Oh, god. What if Obie handed over some of Tony's best work to Ross? It had always been in the realm of possibility. Maybe this underhanded, double-dealing has been going on that long. Who knows, it could even be longer than that. 

Tony wasn't blind. He'd seen all the signs. Obie had been far too nice and accommodating the last year or so. He always wanted to have the last say in every company decision. He loved to remind Tony just how clueless he was with HR and public relations and how irresponsible and childish Tony was. And maybe all of that was true and probably deserved. But there was a difference between a father and a business partner. A bad business partner at that. 

It doesn't matter anymore. Tony swore he'd shut down all their questionable deals and that's what he's going to do. That's all that matters now. It won't make up for everything he's done wrong and all the ways he's failed, but it's a start. 

The last thing he ever expects is for Pepper to go against him. Obviously, she hasn't seen the results of these actions first hand and yeah, she always looks out for his safety, but safe and complacent are no longer acceptable. They aren't even an option. Why should he benefit from bloodshed any longer? All the luxury, all the beautiful, brainless sycophants, all attention and glamour and everything he could possibly want… it means nothing. It is nothing. Because he has nothing. Nothing but a fancy metal suit, a vulnerable heart, and a promise not to waste the time he's been given. 

This is finally something he should be doing. Protecting all the innocent people he endangered is right and no one can argue that it's not. It's not PTSD or insanity or reckless irresponsibility. 

Maybe he will die trying to do this. At least it would be while doing something right for once. The only regret he should have is leaving the physicist behind. He's going to make up for everything else. Not for his own sake but for everyone else's. There has to be a reason he isn't dead. 

Pepper takes the lock chip. She's going to help him. "You're all I have, too, you know."

He'd never deserve her. She's really far too good for him. And he knows she wants things that he isn't capable of. But nothing has made him wish he could be with her more than those words. 

The weirdness could dissipate. Maybe it's just because it's her and it was them, and the whole notion of being in a real relationship has to rank as some kind of psychosis, but he doesn't have nothing. He should remember that because what he does have is fantastic. 

~*~*~

He's learned not to trust a lot of people. He's learned not to trust anyone really. He should've known parental, childhood figures were no different. 

Of course Tony isn't perfect. He's been a terrible excuse for a human being his whole life. But. Does he really deserve this? 

The one creation besides JARVIS and the bots that he's really, truly proud of should be his. It can't be a weapon. It's supposed to be clean energy and good and he finally made something helpful and even if Obie hadn't stolen it from his chest, he'd swear that shrapnel is ripping through delicate heart muscles. 

Maybe it is fitting. He's nothing like a hero. He'd never seriously be one of the good guys. He just has to make sure Pepper doesn't die. He is dying but he would die without her. He'd die if she were murdered. She and Rhodey are the only family he has left. 

~*~*~  
California, early 2009

 

It seems wrong and weird to miss Obie, but it's also weird that he's gone. 

It's weird not to see him around, not to argue with him about the company, not to have him hovering over Tony's shoulder while he works on a project. Tony shouldn't miss his presence or anything about him. But Obie was the only father he's ever known. 

Sure, he was a parental figure who basically gouged out Tony's heart and tried to kill him more than once, but poison apples aside, the familial connection was incontrovertible.

Pepper stays in his peripherals as she gets him camera ready. He trusts her and basically no one else. But she is and always has been worthy of his trust. He doubts anyone else, but Pepper will always be there for him. 

Maybe what he wants is her. He wants someone who knows him and still likes him. He has to have someone brilliant and bold and sassy, and she totally qualifies. 

He might not know how to do the whole sex meaning something, and throwing money at a florist is pretty much the limit on his ability to romance. And he knows she wants those things. The romance and intimacy and things that mean something. She's gotten all funny and un-Peppery over some things that the men she's dated have done for her. What those things were, who the hell knows. How do non-sexual intimacy and feelings like that work? It's not like he wouldn't be able to figure it out eventually. He can figure out anything. 

How could he be someone worth having a relationship with? 

It didn't feel this difficult with the physicist. It just… was. Something existed; something tied them together, and even when he thought about what it would be like, it didn't feel like a reason to panic or like he'd have to work so hard to make the pieces fit. Something already fit. 

But he's an engineer. He can make any pieces fit. He just has to take them apart and mess with them and put them back together so it works even better. The only problem is people don't work that way. 

It doesn't matter. She's smart and sassy and hot and knows him and still sticks by him. Therefore she is what he wants. He wants her to be proud of him and everything he's done and every way he's changed. She would know better than anyone how different he is. 

As long as they are making him spout some BS to the press about a superhero bodyguard he happens to have, he should have some recognition from someone. He is different. He's not going back to his old life. You can never go home again. Maybe she is proud of him but would never tell him because it'd go to his head. Maybe she is crazy about him and wants him despite all his crazy. 

Except there's that part where he fucks up any and every relationship he touches. He didn't mean to abandon her at the ball or anything. And she almost walked out and quit on him. So. They were even. Or he was a giant assface. But what else was new. 

Maybe it's better if things stay exactly the way they are now. He shouldn't hit on the friends he has just because they are the only two people in his life he values. He won't lose her if they aren't together. He doesn't need her to fawn over him and give him approval. Something like that coming from her would be wrong anyway. 

~*~*~

When he makes it home after his superhero-coming-out press conference, and once he gets rid of the government intruder who thinks dangling initiative opportunity cookies is enticing and that sharing the spotlight is something Tony does, JARVIS has a present for him. But not any kind of present he would've expected. 

A grainy, pixelated three seconds of video that even JARVIS can't clean up any more than it has been. But it's clear what it is. Tony knows exactly who it is. 

He freezes the clearest frame and enlarges the large green silhouette. Banner is alive. Tony knew there had to be a reason Ross wanted special weapons. Whatever they turned Banner into was massive and he shrugs off one of the best Stark missiles like it's as useless as Hammer Tech. But he was alive. Mutated, sure, and the man with the extraordinary mind that he had been was gone for good. But. Alive. 

Tony catches himself tracing an outline of Banner's new, enormous body. "J, when was this? Where was it taken?"

"The associated data indicates it was recorded sometime between July 28th and August 3rd near Kunar Province, Afghanistan."

That was… when Tony was there. That's where he was. What was Banner doing there? Tony had been so close. They almost crossed paths. He could have met Banner. Or whatever name Banner went by now. 

"Shall I reinstate Dr. Banner on your list?"

Tony's chest tightens. His physicist. How can just the thought of someone make his chest feel even heavier than it does with all the embedded metal? "The 'glass slipper' list? No. Obviously, it's not him. I would've mentioned that he was huge, green, and made of nothing but muscle. But. I mean, at least Banner's alive. Have you found anything else on him?" 

"Unfortunately, no. Any article or photograph possibly referencing Dr. Banner is removed within minutes of its appearance."

"Removed? By whom?" 

"That is information I have yet to uncover. Traces performed have been misdirected or the connection is terminated before completion."

If it can beat JARVIS… "So, it's professional is what you're telling me."

"Indeed. If you'd like, I can maintain a record of all media references and erasure of Dr. Banner. As it is, the recent clip I saved for you is the only example of something substantial since 2004. In 2004, there was an incident at Culver University that destroyed at least two buildings and left eight people dead or critically injured."

Destroyed _buildings_? "Banner did all that?"

"That is unconfirmed. Reports of the incident mentioned heavy military presence at the university that day. Bystanders spoke of tanks, missiles, and specialized radiation weapons."

They attacked him. Ross on his manhunt. Probably with Stark Tech whether Tony had authorized it or not. "Go ahead and keep the record of Banner. Let me know if there's anything else substantial. Or if there are any other reports of an attack like that." Maybe if something happened again, Tony could do something about it. Iron Man could do something about it. 

That was such a cool name. He's Iron Man. A worthy celebration is long overdue. He should get the expo up and running again. Right after he finds one or two or more people who'd be awesome naked and in his bed. 

~*~*~  
California, autumn 2009

 

It started like a cold with a sore throat and wheezy cough, and he thought nothing of it. But it lasts _forever_. Unending weeks, and no amount of cough syrup, vitamins, exercise, Tylenol, tea, or fruits and vegetables make any bit of difference. Somewhere in the third week, it comes with uncommonly often and intense migraines. The lymph nodes in his neck become swollen and hard, painful when anything touches them, and he takes to either forgetting ties or wearing them very loosely. 

Then the bones of his teeth and jaw hurt and any pressure from chewing and eating, or other activities he likes to use his mouth for, make all of his favorite methods of entertainment almost unbearable. 

He always seems tired but that is mostly fixed with insane amounts of coffee and the occasional nap. Pepper scolds him for being apathetic and negligent when she finds him sleeping in his office, but he's too tired to argue with her or to say anything really. Obviously, it signals something is wrong because she looks at him all concerned and tells him to go home and rest. 

She brings him chicken noodle soup later that evening and takes over his job for a week until he feels better. 

The rest and the time away from everything seem to help, and for a while, he's something normal. But he wakes one night in the darkness and can't breathe. 

His chest is too heavy. Maybe he slept too long on his back and the reactor impaired his breathing. It's simple. It's nothing unusual. The arc reactor is always weighted and pressing against his heart and lungs and ribs. But everything is dark and no matter how he positions himself, breathing is astronomically difficult. 

He has JARVIS run scans while he finds a reflective surface so he can adjust the reactor in his chest, and it finally occurs to him why he's been sick. It's not some virus or bacterial disease that's widespread during early winter. It's not from someone he kissed or fucked. It's the arc reactor. 

JARVIS confirms his suspicions and shows him diagrams and results and a dark, silvery pattern forming just below the epidermal layer of his skin. It's angular, geometric, metallic in a weird, sardonic way. The palladium is poisoning him. 

Tony doesn't go back to sleep. He doesn't even try. He and JARVIS run through treatment methods, supportive medicine, all possible symptoms he can look forward to, and then replacements for palladium. 

He spends a good 53 hours researching and doing theoretical and a few actual tests before he has to try seriously sleeping again. If he arranges enough pillows on his bed, it should keep him from moving too much and then the device that used to be keeping him alive won't suddenly suffocate him in his sleep. Or something like that. JARVIS promises to monitor him closely and to notify Pepper and other officials if Tony stops breathing for longer than a minute. 

He can't sleep very long even with how exhausted he is. He wakes every few hours and it takes him at least another hour to fall back asleep. But when he finally crawls out of bed, the case of liquid chlorophyll he ordered is at his door. It seemed like the most promising treatment option given it's a natural chelate that binds to and can possibly remove toxic heavy metals. Plus drinking plant is oh so fun. He figured he'd try it first, and it actually seems to abate the feeling like crap and hell and death. Not 100% but still, it's not bad. It's something.

Tony has JARVIS order five more cases and then spends every moment he can get away with looking for a different element or compound for the reactor. 

He should tell someone. This is extremely not good and at least Pepper or Rhodey should know, but Tony can't quite tell them. They'd worry. And treat him weirdly. No need to upset them without a really awesome fun reason. This is not an awesome fun reason. 

After four months, it's painfully obvious that the solution is not within his grasp. He needs help. He needs someone who knows biology and physiology and metals and compounds. He needs someone whose genius rivals his own. 

It's not fair that the only person he can think of is the runaway doctor squared physicist. There have to be other options. Tony just can't think of any. 

He needs the physicist. He has to find him. Tony is going to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Happy Spring and Easter and have a fabulous weekend!
> 
> \- Just a note to my beloved readers, an update is coming soon! but I am and have been incredibly busy (I help do a lot of work for Relay for Life and it sucks away all my free time.) Don't worry, though. I'm still here! Not going anywhere. It's just taking me longer to finish a chapter. Much love to you all. Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate all your comments! You are wonderful! <3


	10. In the Loneliness of Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce copes with recent traumas and Tony struggles with his health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Hello, my loves. I have missed you terribly and want you to know that this fic is in no way abandoned. I've been fighting illness the last few years and it was very difficult to do anything let alone write. But I am feeling better now and hope you will forgive me for being gone so long. 
> 
> So here is a present for you. I hope to have more up soon, but I have other projects through June. But I am still here! 
> 
> TL;DR Happy release day! I am going to fucking destroy that pathetic excuse for a movie. Bannerella forever ;) 
> 
> ALSO: Bruce is heavily falling into depression so trigger warnings for that*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Izmir, Turkey, spring 2009

 

Once upon a time, Bruce had dreamed of traveling the world. He’d spent hours curled up with Betty, with boyfriends, with other girlfriends, planning where they’d go, what cities they wanted to visit, what cultures and histories they wanted to study and immerse themselves in. 

People were fascinating. Their behaviors, traditions, beliefs were sometimes so different from how he’d been brought up and sometimes so similar. Analyzing, comparing, learning as much as he possibly could was always one of his favorite hobbies. 

As of a few hours ago, he’s been traveling for six years straight. Under very different circumstances than what he’d originally hoped for. There’s been no lover at his side. No one back home to share stories of his travels. No home to go back to. No one who loves him. And he hasn’t exactly been able to indulge in sightseeing or studies that aren’t related to his giant green issue. 

There were places he’d stayed for a few months, and his stay in South America had been long enough that he had picked up some things. Languages if nothing else. But it’s hardly comparable to what he once wanted. 

He’s tried so many ineffective solutions. If there were a possible cure, he would have found it by now. Maybe he missed something and maybe there are other options, but he hasn’t had anything remotely promising in years. He’s incredibly intelligent. Supposedly unmatched in that arena. 

But he doesn’t feel like it. He hadn’t when he was a child, and it certainly doesn’t apply nowadays. He should’ve been able to figure out something, and the fact that he hasn’t just makes everything that much more hopeless.

There won’t be anything in his future but this aimless, vagabond life. As much as he tries to be all right with that knowledge, it’s surrounding him, closing in on him like a dense, dark cloud of fog. 

He’s wished for plenty of frivolous things in his life, but love and family have always been at the very top of his list. In some ways, it seems like such a small thing to ask for. Even people who have no money, no job, no possessions can often say they have family, which therefore made them rich in ways that counted. On the other hand, it feels so immense and unattainable. It’s too much to even hope for. 

At least Izmir is comforting somehow. Maybe it’s having the soothing waves of the sea so close or the fact that he can feel the history of the ancient city. Bruce has never been one to seriously believe in ghosts, but he almost can in a place like this. Heaviness hangs in the air and he’s sure someone who claims to be psychic would tell him souls from all the thousands and thousands of years of civilizations are what is weighing on him. 

He’s pretty sure it’s the fact that he’s a walking, potential catastrophe capable of devastating an entire population, but who could be expected to guess that? 

He takes a few days and travels back to Egypt where he’d been living before his stint in Afghanistan and Russia. He doesn't really expect any of his belongings to still be there. Not after this long. But he has to verify it for himself. 

No clothes, no books, none of his notes or data. No gold money clip serving as proof that somewhere there’s a person who cares about him. Or once cared about him. He has nothing but memories of Tony now. 

It was only a matter of time. He couldn't hold onto a physical token forever. The fact that he had it for a few years is a testament to his sheer will power. 

Maybe he needs to accept that it's gone. It's not realistic what he wants. It's not something he can have, and he knows that. He's always known that. But the emptiness is staring him in the face now. It still hurts having it come true. 

He needs to move on. He needs to do something. Being trapped and tortured for nearly two months did nothing to help his psyche or mental health.

He returns to Izmir empty-handed, to his menial job in a factory, assembly line. It’s been nice to work and simply let his mind go blank and everything else go numb. 

But it doesn’t work for long. Nothing does. And the money he earns barely allows him a safe place to sleep at night, let alone a meal or two a day. But he can’t bring himself to practice any kind of medicine right now. 

The thought of being responsible for people living or dying is one he wants to stay far, far away from. Might as well stick this out. 

Otherwise, he could be relegated to cleaning and keeping house somewhere, and that holds far too much of a painful illusion of domesticity. Working on a line isn’t that terrible. 

~*~*~

California, winter 2009

 

Tony Stark has a plan. The problem is and always has been in the execution of such plans. It would be one thing if all he had to do was build and tinker and engineer and create. He could do that blindfolded, handcuffed, upside down, backwards, square ways and front ways, all night long and doggy style. 

He could also do it in the middle of nowhere with only one lung running above 85% while hooked up to a temperamental car battery and under the threat of imminent death. But there’s no need to delve into that nightmare again.

The thing about this most recent plan is that it will involve everything he hates and nothing he’s good at or cares to do. Organization, dealing with the press and other such public relations, obtaining a venue, making and sending invitations, marketing and media campaigns, schmoozing people who make his skin crawl, and oh god, they’ll probably have to invite Justin Hammer or whoever was actually creating the sad excuse for weaponry over at Hammer Travesties. 

If Tony weren’t already fighting nausea, just the thought of interacting with that man would do it. Given his tenuous health, it’s probably better to conserve his energy anyway. He’d include that among the list of reasons why he’s not the best person for this job, but there was no good way to do that and still keep JARVIS as the only one aware of his deteriorating condition. 

He didn’t need any of his friends hovering and worrying while he was trying to figure out a way to fix it. And how to find the person who could help him. The only living person he’d trust with the catastrophic mess that resided in his thoracic cavity. 

All of this finessing and bullshitting in a diplomatic and adult-like manner leave him one option for successfully accomplishing his plan. Pepper has to get on board. 

It should not be difficult to locate her. She's always around. He always knows where she is. Or she always knows where he is so she can make sure he doesn't do something like sink the company or destroy the nation or drop dead. But she's not at the house or the offices or her house. She isn't answering her cell. 

Even Happy has no clue where she’s gone or what she’s up to and he always knows. Why is it only when there's something really important and he needs her that he can't find her? 

While in the middle of typing out a text to her explaining how there should be a law of the universe that says he must always be able to know one of the following — either her whereabouts or how to find her — because the world will fall into chaos and disarray without her, she strolls through the front door with a funny smile on her face. 

"Good morning, Mr. Stark." She sets her briefcase and purse on his coffee table then starts pulling out her file folder and laptop.

Her hair is down and all… wavier than usual. Her makeup is classy and minimal as always, but it’s different somehow. Like she used higher quality skin care products or shades that made her look prettier and more refreshed. Well rested, maybe? Like she finally took a vacation? 

But she went without him which is displeasing and annoying even if he is technically her job and it wouldn’t be much of a vacation if she took her work along with her. Why can’t he take a vacation for a while? So he isn’t just sitting around in California dying. 

He starts to hurry toward her before he remembers that hurrying is a very bad thing that makes him achey and dizzy and even more queasy that he already is. He’s going to have to order another several case of puréed, planty sludge. 

He sits carefully on the sofa near her and hopes she won’t notice the pallid color of his skin. “Where have you been?”

She glances at her slender, leather watch and still has that weird smile. “What do you mean? I’m not late. This is the same time I always arrive.”

“I’ve been trying to find you. I have a project that needs to happen. A huge project.” Should he explain why? That he’s hoping to entice the nameless, runaway, Doctor Squared physicist into appearing out of nowhere on his white horse because Tony desperately needs his help? 

There would just be worrying. And dissuasion. How could he ever expect someone he slept with years ago and only knew for a day to help him? Even Pepper would probably think he was being swayed by a ludicrous, romanticized notion. 

It was foolish and unrealistic to hope for. But she didn’t know how grave the situation was. She couldn’t know. “Maybe that whole new direction for Stark Industries that I wanted. Which, by the way, we need to be Stark Enterprises now. Not Industries. I need you to get started right away.”

To her credit, she doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Of course, she doesn’t know what it is yet, but she has to be used to his demands by now. “I took the night off. What sort of project?”

“It’s the… you took the night off?” What exactly did that mean? She needed a break from work? Or from him? Does that mean she wouldn’t miss him if he were gone? She’s probably the only person besides Rhodey who might. Tony really doesn’t want to think about how it is only them. They are the only family he has, the only people he’d leave behind. What if they’re better off without him? 

He really, really needs to figure out an alternative to being poisoned. His thoughts turn far too morbid and emo with this mortality hanging over his head. Weighing down his ribcage. Threatening to slice and destroy his heart. He looks her over again like he can figure out what she means just by staring long and hard enough. “What did you do?”

“I took some time for myself.” She smiles again and this time it’s dazed, mushy, dreamy, and reserved solely for lovesick teenagers or people on ecstasy. “Tell me about this huge project. What exactly do you mean by huge project?”

“Did time for yourself involve chemical recreation or was it some other kind of activity?”

The look she gives him is only slightly irritated, but it’s also not colored with even a bit of amusement. “Do I need to remind you that inquiring about sexual activity is grounds for a harassment lawsuit?”

She’s far too good at following his train of thought. Either that or it’s easy to assume he would bring up sex in some way. “Did I say sexual activity? I don’t believe that even entered my mind.”

Pepper gets out her laptop and, presumably, prepares to take notes. Clearly, she doesn’t believe him. But her reaction is interesting. 

They’ve had plenty of conversations about sex before without her reminding him that normal employer/employee relationships do not include discussion of personal sex lives. But she’s his PR, his right hand, his financial, commercial, professional everything. She knows plenty about his own sexual proclivities. She’s even seen compromising positions of all kinds starring him, smooth, beautiful Blue Label scotch, at least three or four women, men, otherwise identified people, and a whole lot of nudity. 

If she is warning him off of her own personal sexual life now, it likely means she has one. 

He’s not quite sure if he should offer congratulations for the orgasms or pout because she has shiny new things in her life that don’t involve him. 

But none of that matters right now. “I want to get the Expo up and running again. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s been a dead dream for far too long. I want it to be a showcase for technology. Advancement. Scientific progress. Everything. I want engineers and scientists from all over the world to cream themselves wishing they could attend.”

Pepper raises a delicate eyebrow and her smile turns into a pressed, knowing line. “You mean you want a venue where you can show off your inventions to people who will fully appreciate them?”

“Sure.” If she wants to look at it that way, it’s fine. Much more believable and easier to explain than his true intention. And if he can’t figure out this palladium poisoning thing, maybe it’ll leave behind some kind of legacy from him that isn’t murder and weapons of mass destruction. As much as he’s argued with some people that his suit is not a weapon, they rarely believe him. He can’t even logically deny it, but since when did anyone expect sense and logic from him? “I deserve it.”

A weary sigh escapes her. “Tony, do you have any idea of what organizing and producing something like that would entail?”

“That’s not really the kind of thing I’m into producing. That’s why I have you.”

She goes on with a list of why the Expo isn’t viable financially or culturally and that people just don’t care about scientific conventions like that the way Tony wants them to. If he wants to give back to education or science, there are other ways to do it. If it really is just a huge arena in which to stroke his ego and find him bed warmers, then there are other ways to do that, too. 

But his mind is made up. It has to be something enormous and grand and full of advancement and technology and revolutionary theory and fancy gadgets. It has to be something progressive and for the good of society and the future of America and the world. It has to be something worth coming out of hiding for. 

He gives her a few months to do it because he knows she can, and he needed it ages ago. She seethes at him so he hides out at Rhodey’s for a week until his symptoms grow too severe to conceal, and then he returns home and immerses himself in green, liquid chelates.

~*~*~

Izmir, Turkey, winter 2010

 

Bruce wakes to something that sounds like gunshots, and his heart pounds well above a safe limit. 

It turns out to be early New Year’s fireworks accompanied by laughing in the street below his little rented room. But it’s enough to leave him terrified and paralyzed for a good fifteen minutes. 

Flashes of memories bombard his mind. Things he’s never remembered, things he never did, things he wishes he could change. He’d stop them if he could. If only he could figure out how. 

In his mind, there are people at his feet. Their bodies are bloody and broken. No longer moving. Never again breathing or living. It had to be his hands that took their lives. His horrible, mutated, uncontrollable hands. 

His Betty was one of those people. She’s in a hospital bed, bruised, unconscious, covered in bandages. Like he was one of those horrible men who beats and abuses his girlfriend and then swears it wasn’t really him and that he wasn’t really like that when that couldn’t be further from the truth. Bruce hates, loathes, and despises anyone like that. His father was like that. He swore he’d never be like that, and yet, that’s exactly who he is. Inadvertent as it may have been, the facts can’t be denied. His beloved girlfriend still ended up in the hospital because of him. 

People are defined by their actions. It doesn't matter if he apologizes for hurting and killing people. He's still caused pain and damage. He's a monster. Maybe he's always been a monster. Or was always meant to be a monster. He's full of hate and rage and anger at the injustice of life. Hate is ugly and harmful poison. It ruins things. He ruins things. Anger wrath destruction it just leads to death and pain. But anger, hate it's all he is. He doesn't remember anything inside him that isn't one or both. 

He hates what they did to him. He hates what he's done. He wants to break everything that ever hurt him and destroy anything that damaged anyone he cares about. He wants the world to stop being so cruel and violent and then all he is, is violence. 

Maybe he tries to be otherwise. He can blame it on the Other Guy and gamma radiation and misfortune. But he's always been angry. He's always been hurt. And lost. He's never been able to succeed or do anything good. If he saved the whole world, it'd never make up for the damage he's done or the damage he could do. 

The only way he could truly spare the world would be to die. But he can't seem to figure out how to do that any more than he can figure out how to stop losing control of the monster inside. 

At one time, he wanted to be a husband, a father, a scientist who makes a difference. He wanted to make the world better because the world really needs to be better. He wanted to not be alone and somehow got cursed with being alone forever. 

How does he deserve this? What had he done? Is it toying with genetics and biochemistry and radiation? Is it all the ways he wants to lash out at injustice? He wanted to murder his father for beating his mother, for taking from him the only person who loved him besides Betty and Jen. He wanted to destroy Ross for ignoring Betty, for breaking her heart, for trying to make her into something she isn't, for forcing Bruce to give up everything. He likely did kill people for capturing and hurting Tony, and he really should regret that more than he does. 

All he ever wanted was a family. He wants someone who would value him and look out for him and love him. He wants someone to not see him as a freak or a time bomb or a monster. Even if he is and always has been all of those things. 

There is no such thing as deserving or undeserving. There’s no such thing as justice. It’s very clear to him how some people can perform such horrible, unforgivable acts because how can anyone draw lines between what is right and wrong? 

Children contract HIV before they’re even born, they die of cancer before they’ve even experienced life, families lose their homes and livelihoods due to hurricanes and tsunamis, women are ridiculed and blamed for being victims of rape, trans people are murdered and no one cares, people with disabilities or mental illnesses are ignored or tortured or turned into jokes, people of color are exotified, dehumanized just to prove they’re inferior. None of it happens for any concrete reason. Why punish people who have done nothing to harm others? How is it reasonable or logical to scorn people for things outside of their control? 

There’s no point in trying to make sense of it. He can’t do anything. His life only brings pain and destruction. He’s always alone. If he died, no one would care. If he died, the world would be better off. 

Before being captured and tortured by General Ross, Bruce had theorized that adrenaline suppression could prevent him from changing. The human body has multiple mechanisms for clearing adrenaline from a person’s system, and he always suspected that his metamorphosis back into himself had something to do with those mechanisms. Unfortunately, he never had a way to test such a hypothesis. Especially not if he wanted to do it in a controlled, safe format. 

Thanks to Ross’ cruel experimentation, at least Bruce now knows adrenal inhibitors are effective. Impractical, painful, and by no means sustainable. But they did work. The question is, will they be effective long enough?

~*~*~  
California, early 2010

 

While Pepper works on the Expo, Tony works on what it’s really for. How can he send a message across the world without actually sending a message for anyone to find and decode? Is advertising it everywhere enough? Would his physicist even notice or care? 

Tony has JARVIS pull up the list of men with medical degrees and doctorates in physics. He goes through it for hours, then creates additional searches and widens the specifications. He researches into some people, looks up pictures of others, but can’t determine if any of them are remotely like the man he’s hoping to find. 

There have been so many people and so many years. What did the man look like? Was he tall or short? Beefy and muscular or thin and wiry? Hairy, shaven, older, younger, blond, redhead, butch, tattooed, pierced, clean-cut, femmy, white, black, brown, turquoise, purple? 

Tony can’t focus. He can’t remember. Was his physicist even real? Or anything remotely like what Tony remembers? What does he even remember? He thinks and only recalls feelings and actions. The man was warm and gentle. He was protection and care and affection. He was unloved and lonely but he was brilliant and snarky and beautiful. 

But the image doesn’t exist anymore. It’s completely blurry. What is he even doing going through names? He doesn’t know any of these people. 

Finding someone is important, but Tony can’t remember why. What is it that he’s supposed to find? 

A loud, piercing alarm goes off and JARVIS states that Tony’s blood toxicity level is too high. 

Confusion and memory loss are symptoms of the poisoning, JARVIS reminds him. 

Maybe that’s why everything is fuzzy in his mind. Could it happen to memories of something so long ago? 

Clearly, the answer is yes. He can’t focus. He can’t remember. There was a biophysicist. A doctor more than once. He saw through everything Tony pretended to be, he saw through the bullshit, the exterior, all the misconceptions and assumptions. He understood Tony in a way no one else ever had, ever could, and still liked him. And Tony loved him. 

Unequivocally, loved him. Loves him still. Because it’s never gone away. He doesn’t want it to go away. 

But he doesn’t remember any more. It’s all fading and bleeding through the cracks. The pieces are dented and damaged. Eroding from this poison just like his body. 

Tony drinks more chlorophyll, takes more painkillers, resists breaking out the alcohol, and rests for a while.

Without divulging too much information, he talks to a few people who are supposedly experts in their fields. A few are aware of how a reactor like the one in Tony’s chest would work in theory, but not in actuality. They all conclude that a device of that scale would be impossible to manufacture, and even if it did happen to exist, any element or compound that could power it would be unstable or imaginary. 

On a particularly bad night, he tests a few doctors on their knowledge of electromagnets, reactors, and palladium poisoning to see if any of them might have a clue on how to help him. The general consensus is that treatment of such condition would involve decontamination i.e. removing the heavy metal toxin from the patient’s system. 

Obviously, that would be the plan if it didn’t also involve leaving his heart vulnerable to shrapnel that is too numerous and deeply buried to remove. 

The chlorophyll is the only thing that remotely helps the physical aspects, but every day, he has to drink more and more of it in order to keep the symptoms at bay. And it’s not as if it tastes like scotch or rum or anything good. 

As far as the mental toll the sickness is taking on him, he can’t help wishing for company. The good kind of company. Not just someone who is hot and fun in bed. He really doesn’t feel up to that right now. Unfortunately. If he dies without ever having sex again, he’s going to be really irritated in the afterlife. 

He wishes he had someone who cares about him. He wishes he could build a time machine and go back to that conference in Bern and never let that physicist go. 

Why does Tony even hold onto the idea? How could it possibly have been what he thought it was? It probably wasn’t. Maybe it wouldn’t have lasted more than a week. 

Still. When he wakes in the middle of the night unable to breathe, when his body aches and all he feels is pain, dizziness, and exhaustion even after hours of rest, he thinks of his Doctor Squared. The person who took care of him and didn’t have to. The one who believed there was more to him when no one else did. It’s just a fantasy now, but he’s not going to let it disappear completely. Especially when he feels terrible and is convinced this is it for him. 

Maybe he needs to give up on hoping for the physicist. The Expo will be something good about him the world can remember. That’s really all he can hope for. 

In the meantime, he makes up replacement cores for his reactor because they are being absorbed into his body and running out quickly. Everything is deteriorating fast. He needs a successor. Someone to take over. Someone who won’t abuse his wealth and power and turn his company back into a weapons factory. 

He also needs a bucket list, but right now the only thing on it is seeing his runaway love again.


End file.
